Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1)

by Keyla Hunter

  He aimed it at the space between my eyebrows, and made my forehead tingle. He cocked it and I swallowed.

  “Now that was dumb. Very, very dumb. Now do as I say and turn around.”

  I held my breath and complied. My heart thumped in my chest in slow motion and I faced the car. Wham! He delivered a thundering blow across the back of my head—a shooting pain, a plethora of stars, and a black abyss of nothingness.

  I must have dozed off again. It was hard to say how long we had been traveling. I was in and out. Was I concussed? That would explain the stale smell of blood, the drowsiness, and the headache that had now reduced to a dull throbbing.

  Muscles cramping and aching, my body was stiff after what I guessed had been a long ride. It was a small car and I was sharing a space with a golf bag.

  The car stopped abruptly and I heard the slamming of a door. I held my breath as if it would make a difference. I tried to get my bearings together. This was important. I had to be on my A-game.

  The door above me swung open. Through my closed lids I sensed the change in light. He pulled off the cloth around my eyes and I was blinded by the daylight that flooded in. I blinked up and Mike’s leering face surrounded by a canopy of trees that came into focus.

  “You’ve been a good little girl.” He looked around. “Now, you’re on my turf.”

  He pulled me up and I staggered out. We were in the middle of a reservation. The dirt road ended and ahead of us was a foot path. My first instinct was to run. I looked around but where would I go? I would go anywhere. It didn’t matter. I arched my back and tried to wriggle.

  He looked amused.

  “You can run all you want, but I’ll track you down. I know every inch of this place like the back of my hand. When Barb got sick I would come here. This is my place. I thought of a little game that we could play, but we need to go in a little deeper. Folks come here sometimes.”

  I spun my head around and my eyes moved fast searching for signs of other people.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “There’s nobody here now.” He brought me closer to him and said, “I like a girl who doesn’t talk too much. By now you’ve learned your lesson. I’ll take this off.”

  He tugged on the gag and pulled it up and over on my head. Leaning in, he sniffed around my face, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. His mouth quivered and he pulled my lips close to his. I felt the repulsion rising in my belly.

  “Oh, I bet you taste really good,” he crooned.

  His face was within spitting distance and I wanted to do just that. The memory of the cocked gun and the gleaming blade flashed through my mind. He was more relaxed now, and it was best that I didn’t upset him. I looked straight ahead and practiced an empty stare.

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  We began to move down a dirt path, faster and faster, his gun on my back. A few moments in, my heel caught a pebble and I stumbled.

  “Take them off.”

  “What?”

  “Your shoes. Get them off. They are slowing us down.” He pushed the muzzle deeper into my back.

  “Okay, give me a moment.” I kicked off the shoes.

  He bent over and threw them into the wilderness. One landed close to the path and he started toward it when I heard the smallest sound behind us. Was it a twig or was it wishful thinking? Stopping in his tracks, he must have heard it too, so he pulled me into the bushes and pushed me down onto the ground.

  I groaned.

  “Shh… shut up and stay down,” came the hoarse whisper. His whiskey-laced breath smelled foul as he lay on top of me.

  He bounced back up to his feet like he was on springs. “You stay down.” His jaw clenched and he threatened me with a wave of his gun. I felt his boot on my back and whimpered at the weight of his foot.

  “Shut up.” He applied more pressure. It was probably a size ten and it was heavy. I tried to move, to breathe. “Keep still,” he hissed. “I’ll kill you now.”

  The sound of footsteps were loud. Dry leaves under foot crushed, crunching louder and faster.

  He kicked me in the ribs. “Get up, bitch. Who knew you were coming to my house?”

  “No one, I swear.”

  “I can’t trust you. I’m going to kill you now.”

  “It’s no one, I swear. I didn’t tell anyone. Other people come down here. You said so yourself. If you shoot they’ll hear the sound and follow it.”

  “Alright, alright,” he grumbled.

  It was quiet and we began to walk again. Once in a while he would stop and listen, but we heard nothing. He urged me to move faster.

  “You are slowing us down.”

  “I’m doing my best. It’s hard with my arms tied up.”

  “I’ll release them, but you better not try any funny business. I can find you wherever you go. Remember?”

  I nodded and shuddered at his words. It would be good to have control of my limbs again. The cold knife pressed against my skin as he hacked away at the ropes. The tip of the blade nicked my wrist. Tears sprang into my eyes. I bit on my lower lip and stifled a shriek. My arms were almost free. If I made a sound now I would blow it.

  He finally cut through the bindings and the ropes fell away. My hands were free. I looked at my wrists, The red indents smarted from being exposed to the air. I opened and closed my fingers to relieve the pins and needles from lost circulation. At least I was no longer bound.

  I heard the footsteps behind us again. They were much closer this time. He heard them too. He held on to me, my body crushed against his. His arm was under my chest and added pressure on to my ribs. He held on so tight that I could hardly breathe. The arm that carried the gun extended into the surrounding area. We spun around slowly on the spot.

  “Who’s there?” he called out. “I have a gun and I will kill her.”

  “Let her go and drop your weapon.”

  It was Brett.

  “No way.”

  “I have a clear shot to your head.”

  “Where are you?” I had spied Brett, and Mike’s momentary hesitation told me that he had seen him too. He was buying time.

  “I won’t hesitate to blow your brains out,” said Brett.

  “You don’t have eyes on me.”

  “My gun’s trained on your head. The girl’s a foot shorter than you. You’re easy pickings. It will take me one bullet. Don’t be a fool, Mike.”

  “Okay, I’m putting it down.”

  “He’s bluffing, Brett.”

  “Shut up,” he whispered, digging an elbow into my back.

  “You stay out of this, Tracy. I’ve got it.”

  “I’m with you, man. I’m putting it down.”

  “That’s the way, nice and easy.”

  As Mike bent down to lay the weapon on the ground, I wiggled out of his grasp and began to run. Mike grabbed the gun and began to fire in Brett’s direction.

  “Run, Tracy,” shouted Brett at the top of his lungs.

  I turned toward him and saw him fall but I didn’t stop. He would have to take care of himself.

  I ran for all I was worth till I could no longer hear the sounds of firing. I stopped to catch my breath and leaned against an aged copperwood tree stump. At every turn were trees that rose several meters up into the sky as they competed for the sun’s rays. Each of them looked like the last. It was dark and the footpaths and trails had long disappeared.

  Barefooted and alone, I was lost.

  The break was too short, but I knew I had to move. What had happened to Brett? Would he come for me? I took out my phone and entered the passcode. Damn it, there was no signal here.

  My eyes darted around as I walked on, keeping a lookout for Mike. When I felt tired, I pictured those terrible eyes and him breathing down my neck. That was enough to spur me on. I heard the crackle of twigs, the rustling of dried leaves, and a dragging along the forest floor.

  “Run, Tracy, run,” he called.

  The hairs on my neck rose. Where was he? He sounded so close
, but I couldn’t see him. Was my mind playing tricks on me? I felt like a burglar on the run, but why was I the one who had to run? Mike was the thief. He was the murderer.

  My throat was dry and my feet felt sore. Stopping, I took a big gulp of fresh air. I was so unfit. I was never a star athlete and certainly not a runner. I fudged PE in school. I was the girl on the debate team, more for my ideas, not so much for my ability to argue.

  Mike was confident. I could hear it in his every step. At times he was quiet. When I rested, he walked fast. He was moving over and over again in the same pattern. Then it struck me. This was it, this was his game. He wanted me to run.

  “Where are you, Tracy?” Mike’s voice was louder now.

  I was at the copperwood stump again. I had walked in a complete circle. Yes, it was the same tree. There were the initials F&B encircled in a heart dated from twenty-one years ago. Why hadn’t I noticed? He had led me around. How foolish had I been?

  “Ring a, ring a, Tracy,” he sang.

  I had to make a new plan, so I shimmied up the closest tree. I saw a clearing about a kilometer away from here and began to move toward it. If I got there, I may be able to find a signal. The only problem was I had no idea where I was. I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

  “That’s better, Tracy, you are getting better at this,” he shouted. I ran harder. My muscles felt weak, like Jell-O. I needed water. I needed air. I needed a rest. I didn’t know what I was doing. I had to get to the clearing. I heard him running now. He was not as in control as before.

  The woods were getting thicker. The air was heavy and wet. I turned around the corner and he sprang out from behind a tree.

  “There you are,” said Mike, his face plastered with a sloppy grin.

  I stopped for a breath. He stopped too.

  “Did you enjoy my little game? This is my place, I know every inch of it. Remember?”

  “Oh shut up,” I said exasperated. I was sick of running. “Come on, come and get me.”

  “All in good time.” He threw his head back and laughed like a maniac.

  I spied the clearing in the distance. It gave me fresh wind. I began to run toward it. This time I was determined to make headway. He was the cocky hare and I was the old tortoise. I would win this race. I had to.

  He had murdered three people and it was a matter of time before he got me. Had he killed Brett too? No, no, I couldn’t believe that. Brett would come for me. I needed to hold the mad man off till then. He would bring the cops. I would get out of this alive and to hell with Mike.

  I pictured myself back in my old, comfortable life. I was safe. Millie, Ryan, and I were having a long jaw at Nom Noms. This was only a bad dream. I would wake up at any moment now. I had to wake up. In dreams and even in nightmares, you always woke up.

  Running faster now, the cool air helped. I was making good ground. I didn’t stop to listen for sounds. I kept moving and trusted that everything would be alright. I heard no crackling or rustling, no footsteps, no sounds except for my own. I had shaken him off, but I couldn’t slow down. Brett knew I was around here. He would come. I would be fine.

  I was in the deepest part of the forest now. Everything was absolutely quiet except for the occasional bird. A broad headed skink slithered past. I had come to a clearing and looked at my phone. There was signal now, so I began to punch in Brett’s number. The phone rang once and then flashed thrice and turned off, the battery was dead. I had to keep moving.

  A river babbled ahead and I couldn’t get around it. My option was to go across or to go back into the thicket. I chose to go to the other side. It was the only way and he wouldn’t think that I had done it.

  I peered inside the water and shivered. South Florida was gator country. When I peered in I could see the bottom. I didn’t see any evil eyes staring back, just a mixture of sand and stones. There were some rushes toward the middle of the river, but I would take a chance.

  I spied a branch and picked it up. The sun blazed down on the stones and they were dry. I pierced the river bed with my makeshift walking stick and took my first step. The sun baked stone felt warm and comforting. I could do this.

  Taking a few more steps, I grew hopeful. I needed to follow the stone pattern. They were the stepping stones to freedom. He would never have thought that I would cross. The next plunge of my stick indicated that the water was at least six feet deep. I shuddered at the unexpected dip.

  I was in the middle of the river now. On the other side of the bank the trees were dense. They gave shade and covered the stones with a waxy green sheen. I was almost there. No going back now. I dared not to turn my head. What if he was waiting for me on the other side? His gun gleamed in my mind’s eye and edged me on.

  One more step closer. The water was flowing faster now. I put the stick in. This time it went in deeper than the last and stuck fast in the sand. Placing my foot on the stone, I pulled at the stick. I tried to dislodge it, but it didn’t budge. I pulled at it again and my foot splayed out like I had stepped on a banana peel.

  I hung on to the stick for a moment, but it gave way. I plunged deep into the water and bobbed up again. Coughing and sputtering, I held on to the closest rock. I tensed my body and clung on. My fingers gave way. I felt a wave against my back. My fingers scratched the rock and I slipped back into the water.

  I willed myself back up, but my foot was entangled in a giant root. I pulled on it and felt a searing pain. The blue green water turned red and then black.

  A drip, drip, dripping sound drove me crazy. It added to the pain in my head. I wanted to rub the place that hurt, but I couldn’t move my arms. Drip, drip, drip, it continued. “Close the damn tap,” screamed a voice in my head.

  My eyes fluttered open, but I couldn’t see a thing. Where was I? What had happened? I was no longer running. It must have been a dream.

  My eyes were getting accustomed to the light. The chink of light under the door helped. I was lying on a narrow bed. The thin mattress was hard. A spring dug into my back. I felt wet and cold. I wriggled my bottom to try and get more comfortable, wanting to roll over, but my arms wouldn’t move.

  The memories pierced through like shards. I was running. Mike was behind me, following me, taunting me. I fell into the water, hit the bottom, and kicked back up. How had I got here? Brett. It was Brett. He had found me. I knew he’d come. Was I in a hospital? Why couldn’t I move my arms?

  The door opened with a crash. My head felt like it had been split open. Daylight flooded into the room. I cringed and closed my eyes. I opened them one at a time. This way the light was tolerable. A silhouette framed the door post. Too thin and too tall, it wasn’t Brett. It was Mike.

  He stood at the doorway and watched me. When he realized that I was awake, he entered the room and grunted. My arms were bound to the posts of the steel-framed bed. In front of me was a tiny kitchenette. The cabin was sparsely decorated. There was a dining table and a few chairs scattered around the room.

  “I told you I’d find you,” he said. “Did not think you’d be stupid enough to actually run.”

  “Where am I?”

  “My home away from home; the heart of the Henderson estate.” There was pride in his voice. “Old man Henderson first built this place when he moved to these parts years ago. Now no one comes here but me.”

  I remembered Millie talking about the place. It was their first home in South Florida. She wouldn’t come here since Harry’s death. “Too many memories,” she’d said. A few times a year she would have the place cleaned. What would she say if she knew I was being held here?

  He limped across the room and flopped down into a wicker chair. A rudimentary bandage was tied around his shin. He had been injured in the exchange. That was why he had slowed down. That was how I had made it that far.

  I tugged on my bindings.

  He laughed. “They are not coming off. I found you lying in the water. I could have left you there. It stopped raining. You slept through it.”

  “
Why didn’t you leave me… Why didn’t you just let me die?”

  “You are my ticket out of here. As long as I have you, they won’t touch me. That boyfriend of yours will do anything for you.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Or whatever you call yourselves. I have a first-class ticket to the Bahamas. My flight is a few hours away. I’ve got to sit tight till then. No one would find me here. If anyone did and they tried to stop me, I’ll tell them that I will kill you.”

  “You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

  “Think? I know how it’s going to happen. When you came to my house, you did me a favor. Now because of you I’ll be getting away. Funny, huh?”

  I bit down on my upper lip and averted my gaze.

  “Then I can get away from that miserable place and I can start a new life.” He stared at the briefcase of cash at the door.

  “So that’s your plan? You want to keep me here and you think that they won’t find a way to get you. That’s awfully dumb.”

  “Look, bitch, don’t make me kill you like the last man who called me a fool.” He caressed the weapon as though it was a kitten. He pointed the knife at me. “She’s my friend and she’s been real useful.”

  “You killed Frank because he called you a fool? Did you know that he was your father?”

  “Of course I knew. That’s why I went to him for help.”

  “And he refused?”

  “He said that I was not his, that I was like Doug. I was nothing like him. I didn’t belong with that whack job. Being in that house drove me crazy. I went to my real father for help, but he laughed at me. I couldn’t stand it. I’m not a fool.”

  I changed tactics. He was getting irritated and I needed him to stay calm or I would get my head blown off. He seemed to be in a talkative mood; that would help me buy some time.

  “But why did you kill Katherine?”

  “The stupid bitch double-crossed me. I gave her the letter and she promised to give me money, but when Frank died she said she had no use for the letter. She said that she’d tell the police if I didn’t leave her alone.”