by Koethi Zan
‘Laura, I know you’re in here.’
She’d left the barn door cracked open behind her. If Julie could slip her way over there unseen, she could squeeze out and make a run for it. Now with shoes and a coat, she could do anything.
‘You’re making a terrible mistake, Laura. You’re ruining everything.’
Julie swiftly tied the cold, soggy bootlaces into tiny knots. She buttoned the barn coat all the way to the top and then she was ready, except for her breathing, which was loud in her ears. She couldn’t believe the woman wasn’t drawn to it like a radar bleeping at her on a dark sea.
‘I guess that’s how you are, isn’t it, Laura? You always choose the wrong thing.’ The woman’s voice echoed in the air. A tingle went up Julie’s spine. Why must she be so fucking weird? Christ.
Julie dropped down on all fours and crawled along the edge of the wall. Leaning up against the crumbling boards were several rusted-out iron tools of indeterminate use. She lifted one up only to decide it had to be from another century. But it was heavy and could do some damage, which was all that mattered. It was more than enough for her.
The woman searched the other stalls, poking the barrel of the gun into each one. She’d disturbed a couple of cows and the sounds of their heavy bodies shifting against the creaking stall gates masked those of Julie’s footsteps.
‘I’ll find you, Laura. You can’t get away from me. You might as well come back to the house. It will be fine. We’ll make it right.’
Fine, my ass.
Just as she emerged from the shelter of her hiding place, Julie saw the woman’s silhouette facing the door. She bolted toward it, hoping to get there in time. The woman followed, lifting up the shotgun as Julie slipped through the opening. The shot hit wood and ricocheted back into the barn.
Taking a hard right turn, Julie hightailed it to safety behind the building. She leaned up against the back wall, panting, trying to catch her breath as she held up the bizarre iron implement in the moonlight. It looked like a pair of giant pliers but the two prongs had rusted shut. Now it was useless for anything other than a straight hit to the head. So be it.
Julie evaluated her position. If she ran back to the fields she’d be in the wide-open, a moving target on a blank white space. The moon was bright and it was a long way to the woods through eighteen inches of snow, especially hauling around this belly. Forget it. There had to be a better way.
On the other hand, the driveway in front of the barn was plowed and led to the road. She’d be able to run more than twice as fast on that flat, smooth surface. The problem was, the woman would expect it and was probably hiding somewhere now, behind the tractor or the chicken coop, waiting for Julie to make that exact move.
The farm was silent. The animals that had stirred in the barn must have settled back down. The woman waited somewhere for her out there, as still as she was and most likely as terrified. After all, what would that beast do to her if he found out she’d let his precious plaything escape? She couldn’t imagine he’d take it well. Julie felt no pity for her though. It would serve her right. Then just wait until she brought the police back here, banging down the door to drag these degenerates off to hell.
But there was no time for revenge fantasies.
She took a deep breath, gripped her strange tool, and crept around the side of the barn to get the lay of the land.
The house was lit up, making it difficult to find cover. The driveway, however, was far enough away to be buried in dark shadow. Even better, it almost immediately led into thick woods that stood between the house and the road, which was invisible from here.
If she could cover the hundred feet between the barn and the driveway, she would be home free.
She leaned over and checked her laces, then bundled her coat tightly around her. Her legs felt like icicles, the thin silk of the dress offering less than zero protection against the cold. She needed to run soon if only to get the blood circulating again.
She peered a little farther around the corner, looking for the woman. It was quiet, the snow falling in delicate flurries and settling peacefully over the idyllic scenery that gave no hint of the evil festering within it.
She wanted to wait it out, to listen for any sign of movement that would indicate where the woman was waiting for her. Then if she could sneak up behind her, smack her in the head with her precious tool, she could make her way down the driveway at her leisure.
But there were no signs, no movements. Only silence and her freezing legs and shaking body. She had to move before the hypothermia set in. This cold couldn’t be good for the baby.
It was only a hundred yards, she told herself. She wouldn’t run it in a straight line so as to make for an easy target. She’d seen that trick in a movie. She could run a hundred yards before she was spotted, right?
She took a deep breath, gripped her piece of iron, and bolted out from her hiding place into the open night air. She cupped her belly with one hand for support, trying to relieve the pressure of its weight. It would only take a few seconds to reach the complete darkness of the driveway. She was almost there.
A shot rang out, echoing in the sky above her. She’d been seen but the woman had missed again.
The protection of the dark was ten feet away. She was only a few short paces from freedom. Her chest might explode but she’d make it, and once in the shadows she could slow up enough to catch her breath.
Her feet pounded the earth in time with her rhythmic gasps. One, two, three steps. She would be there in four seconds. Less.
The heavy tool slowed her down, though, off-setting her balance. Regretfully, she tossed it aside and broke into a faster run.
Then she was in the shadows. She immediately took a sharp turn off course to confuse her pursuer.
She’d done it. She was home free.
That’s when the long row of bright floodlights that lined the driveway suddenly flicked on. She was completely exposed. But how?
Then she realized it. Motion sensors. The thought had never occurred to her.
The gun blasted again and in an instant searing pain ripped through her body and everything went black.
CHAPTER 51
Adam had spent the last month hitting every small town along the Hudson River, roaming RV parks, seeking out itinerant preachers for information on their shadier brethren, and showing the grainy picture to anyone who would stop to listen. Nothing had turned up, no leads. As he sat in the Chatham Diner nursing his stale coffee and trying not to think about Deirdre, he mapped out his plans for that day with a sense of foreboding. He had to make it count because this was the last Main Street he could ramble down, searching for a lost woman who might not want to be found.
No matter what she thought though, Adam knew what was best for her. He would save her. It was true that she’d committed a terrible act in her youth, he was satisfied of that now, but she had been driven to it, led down a path of destruction. He’d made his decision and knew exactly what to do if he found her.
A few files were spread over the table and he flipped through them mindlessly. They were useless now. All his hard work – the collected data, his careful notes, pages and pages of typed-up theories, all of it tabulated in his elaborately color-coded system – were for nothing. He’d reached it now. The end of the line.
‘Looks like somebody’s working hard.’ The waitress’s voice came out of nowhere, summoning Adam back to reality. She refilled his cup and stood smiling expectantly. Adam wasn’t sure what she wanted of him.
‘Um, yes. Busy week.’
‘I’ve never seen you in here before. Just visiting?’
Now he got it. He knew this type. She wanted the gossip, which he was willing to provide in exchange for something more valuable.
‘Right, yes. Visiting. You lived here long?’
‘All my life.’
‘So you’re pretty familiar with the comings and goings in this town? You’ve got your finger on the pulse, so to speak?’ He gave her his most
dazzling smile.
She smiled back, obviously proud of herself. She rested the coffee pot on the table, prepared to settle in a while.
‘I suppose you could say that.’
‘Then maybe you can help me. You see –’ he leaned toward her conspiratorially, whispering – ‘I’m an investigator.’ He’d learned not to say cop. Too many times he’d found himself talking to the wife of the local police chief, and they always wanted to stick their nose into everything, not liking to have their jurisdiction challenged.
‘Like on television? A P.I.?’
‘Exactly. Yes. A P.I.’ He took a sip of the bitter coffee. ‘This is delicious, by the way.’
‘Fresh brewed,’ she chirped.
He reached out to shake her hand.
‘Adam Miller.’
She took it.
‘Ellie Rainey. Pleased to meet you. What can I tell you?’
‘I guess my first question is whether you’ve noticed any revivalist-type preachers around here?’
‘You mean, like at the church? They have a revival usually every spring, but not this time of year.’
‘No, not that. More like ones that would be out on the streets or the homeless shelters or campsites. That kind of thing.’
‘Oh, you mean the nut jobs? They come through now and then, but the police handle them. They shuffle them off.’
‘Hold on. I want to show you something.’ He took out his phone and pulled up the image of Silas and his daughter.
‘See this girl here. This picture is about twenty years old, so it’s kind of a tough one. But I’m looking for a preacher – an on-again, off-again type – who’s married to this woman.’
She lifted the picture and enlarged it with her fingers. She studied it for a full minute.
‘I don’t know. I mean, we all change a lot in twenty years.’ She patted her hips. ‘Know what I mean?’
He smiled weakly and took his phone back.
‘I know it’s a long shot. But I have to check.’
‘And you say she’s married to a minister now? Certainly narrows it down, but I can’t say I know anyone who fits that description. Something familiar about her maybe, but that’s probably wishful thinking because I’d love to help out an investigation.’ She leaned closer and shielded her mouth with a hand.
‘What did they do?’
He pursed his lips.
‘That’s confidential, of course.’
‘Oh, right, of course.’
‘Well, here’s my cell number in case anything comes up.’ She glanced at his card.
‘I guess this is pretty top secret, huh? You don’t even put a company name on here.’
He smiled and returned pointedly to his files. She took the hint and wandered off to the rest of the customers.
He sighed. Another dead end. This was the last town on his list. He’d sacrificed everything for this search. And now, was this it? After all these years of work, of tormenting himself, of letting Deirdre slip away, would he fail at his mission?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the waitress returning, her face brimming with excitement. He resigned himself to another pointless conversation.
‘Oh, my goodness. I just realized I know exactly who that is in your picture.’
Adam sat upright.
‘You do?’
‘Can I see it again?’
He pulled out his phone, his hands trembling. Could this be it?
She picked it up and held it close to her face, this time lifting up her clear-rimmed glasses with her fingertips to view it with her naked eye.
‘Well, I’ll be damned. I think that is her.’
‘Who? What’s her name? Where is she?’
‘If that isn’t Cora Jenkins. Lives up at the old Johnson place.’
He scribbled down the name and got the directions.
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure of it. Obviously she doesn’t look quite like that anymore but I can see it about the eyes. That’s her. Definitely.’ She handed his phone back.
‘Her husband isn’t a preacher though.’
His hopes fell a bit at that.
‘Oh, no?’
‘He’s a truck driver. Does construction here and there too.’
Of course. Her father had mentioned that.
He’d done it. He’d found her.
‘You’re positive it’s her? And that she still lives there?’ Adam could barely contain himself.
‘Oh, yes. I was at the house not too long ago. To see Mrs. Johnson, the woman she does home-healthcare work for. I didn’t get in though.’ She shook her head, lips pursed. ‘I knew something was up. I knew it. I told Fred we should follow up, but he said to mind my own business.’
She leaned toward him conspiratorially.
‘I admit I poked around a bit when I was there, looked in through a couple of windows until Fred dragged me back to the car. I didn’t see anything, but you never know, do you? And now you’re here.’
She gave him a pointed look, but Adam stayed mum.
‘Well, I really shouldn’t gossip,’ she continued, still eyeing him. ‘They’re nice enough folks. I don’t want to get them in any trouble?’ She clearly wanted to know the gory details, but Adam would never reveal anything to this motor mouth.
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. They just might have some information for me, that’s all.’
When she finally accepted that he wasn’t giving her the real scoop, she went on about her business, but he knew the word would be spread all over town by that evening that a private investigator was looking for Cora Jenkins. He had to hurry now. He gulped down the last of the coffee, gathered his things together and went to the parking lot. He had something to take care of.
Back at his motel, he wasted no time packing everything up into the trunk of his rented white Nissan sedan. It had been a huge expense to ship these files out here, but now he realized it was worth every penny. Everything was here, in one place. His interview notes, the marked evidence bags he’d stolen years ago, the backpack, the atlas – all of it. It came to twelve boxes, all chronologically ordered and practically memorized.
The sun was going down. He had to get things moving.
He drove along County Route 32 until he was out of the town jurisdiction, stopping once for gas at a Stewart’s. Eventually there was nothing left along the road but snow-covered fields and the occasional roadside farm stand closed for the season. He’d located this deserted spot a few days earlier, knowing that whether he found her or not, he had to do this one thing.
He’d take care of these files and scope the house tonight. Tomorrow he’d go in. She was the one who needed saving and his mission was clear. He would rescue her from that cult leader. They all doubted him, but they’d see.
The dirt road he’d chosen hadn’t been plowed since the last snowfall, so the Nissan skidded dangerously around on it. He put it in low gear and hit the gas. He had to make it over the hill to the next field, which was tucked into a valley, invisible to prying eyes for miles around.
The guy at the rental agency had sworn these were snow tires, but Adam was beginning to think he’d been taken in. The back wheels were stuck and try as he might they spun uselessly in the snow. He got out and fell to his hands and knees, digging them out. He tried again and the car finally bumped up out of the hole it had slipped into. He gunned it, nearly sending the car into a tailspin, but at the last second he jerked the steering wheel and got back on track.
His heart soared. He was doing the right thing after all.
When he reached the valley, he stopped the car and got out. He stood there in silence, savoring the profundity of this moment. He’d done it. All these years had finally added up to something. His mother had doubted him, but his daring rescue would prove to her that he could make things right. Deirdre would see, too, that his obsessions had meant something. Maybe she’d give him another chance when she understood what he’d done.
He hurried back to the trunk and started unloading the
boxes, piling them up haphazardly in the snow. Grabbing the file that contained the old newspapers he’d collected, he wadded up bits of it and stuck them in between the boxes here and there.
He went back to the trunk and got out the gasoline tank he’d filled at the station, thoroughly doused the pile, and lit a match. The cardboard instantly erupted in flames that leapt up to the sky.
He watched it burn, his eyes dancing as he saw the tongues of fire lick the air. All of it would burn. The atlas, the blood samples, his meticulous notes. All of it would be gone.
Silas was right: that evidence only led to her. But after all these years, Adam knew no judge or jury could understand the complicated moral calculus of her story. Only he did. And he’d made sure no one could ever prove anything now. He had exonerated her for her childhood sins. She could start over.
‘That’s for you, Laura Martin. That’s just for you.’
CHAPTER 52
Cora put the cool cloth to the girl’s forehead once more, watching with a sort of fascination as she writhed in pain on the bed. There wasn’t much more to do for her. After several taxing hours, she’d managed to get the pieces of shot out of her shoulder – though it had been a messy and complicated proedure – and had finally stopped the bleeding, but the girl had not returned to consciousness.
It was a shame it had come to this.
Why did she have to betray Cora like that? Why couldn’t she have done what she was supposed to? After all Cora had sacrificed. No one could say she hadn’t tried. They would have had something together, a family. The girl could have been reinvented as a new and improved Laura Martin, a better version of the person Cora had been so long ago before everything went sour.
Things would have been different for this new Laura with Cora there to protect her, support her, and treasure her. She would have had Cora as the mother the old Laura never had, the one she’d longed for and spent years expecting to appear. It wasn’t the life the girl thought she wanted, but she could have come to appreciate it if she had only been able to accept.
