How could this happen? Abby realized they had to be the three escapees she’d heard about. The three men in the wanted flyer the woman was taping to the window at the service station, and that she’d paid so little attention to. Who else could they be? The one she’d just escaped fit the description she’d heard on the radio before she turned it off: “...big man, dark hair and eyes, the tattoo of a snake on the side of his face...dangerous... don’t confront.. call police...” The bit she’d managed to hear had stayed with her.
She could call the police if she had a phone. But she didn’t, did she. So what now?
Hearing feet running through the woods in her direction, she took off again, racing away from the sound, arms flailing as she tried to avoid sharp branches that clawed at her face and arms, as if in some dark conspiracy against her. She was mid-stride when her foot caught on something that sent her sprawling face-first in the wet path. The culprit was a gnarled root jutting out of the earth. At least she hadn’t dropped the keys.
The voices were closer now and she scrambled to her feet and kept running. Her breath was coming in painful gasps and she had a stitch in her side, but she ran on. She was in lousy shape. She used to run every day, but it was a long time since she’d done regular exercise of any sort and she was paying for it now as her heart thundered so loud in her chest, she was sure they could hear it. Despite it having been a bright, sunny day, the woods were still wet from all the rain and her sneakers were already soaked through.
She was half surprised to see the lake stretching out before her, black as oil, to hear it washing against the shore. Standing at the edge of the woods, adrenaline pumping through her veins, she debated which way to go. She could slip into the water and try to swim across, but she knew she’d never make it.
What direction should she run in? Would they expect her to turn right, toward the city and try to hail down a car. Thinking they might, she turned left. The moon slid out from behind a dark cloud, giving her a sense of where she was in relation to the camp. But if she could see better, so could her pursuers. She moved deeper into the woods, away from the lake but so that she could still follow it and keep her bearings. If they caught her, she was dead. Her sister would never know what happened to her and would spend the rest of her life wondering. How foolish of her and Corey not to let anyone know where this camp was, as romantic as secrecy had seemed at the time. How foolish to leave herself no way to call for help. I’m sorry, Karen.
But no time for regrets. When she started out for the cabin yesterday, she’d had no thought of her safety. In fact, she’d wanted to die. Or thought she did. But apparently, now that she just might, the idea wasn’t all that appealing, and definitely not at the hands of those three thugs. They must have hitched a ride with someone they knew. She couldn’t imagine anyone in their right mind stopping along the road to pick them up. They were right out of central casting. She wouldn’t have considered such characters for one of her books, they were so typecast. She had to admit though, the boyish charm of the one she assumed was the leader had fooled her at first. But only because she wasn’t paying attention. He was a con, smoother than his pals with all his ma’am’s, thank yous and pleases. Darker in his heart because he had intelligence. If she hadn’t been so swallowed up in her own misery, she would have picked up on it at once. Although to give herself a little credit, she did sense something off about him when he started asking personal questions. All these thoughts crowded her mind as she kept up a fast pace through the woods, planting her feet lightly on the ground, so as to make as little noise as possible.
She stopped and listened. Aside from her laboured breathing, she could hear only the faint dripping of water and the ruffling of the lake’s surface from a light wind that had come up. She could no longer hear her pursuers. She rested her head against a tree trunk, perspiration running into her eyes, trickling down her sides. Her cheek stung where it had caught the whip of a branch. Standing there, she tried to quiet her frantic heart, her raspy breathing. It occurred to her that since they were following her through the woods, there was no one back at the cabin. With luck, she might be able to get back to the car and get away. She held the car keys in her hand as if they were a charm of some sort, and closed her eyes. Please.
“Where the hell did she go?” she heard a voice say, and froze where she stood. The words carried as if she were standing on a high school stage, and the line was spoken by someone off in the wings. Trying to fight her growing panic, Abby stepped away from the tree, her legs rubbery beneath her. Her heart seemed to withdraw deeper into her chest like a small frightened animal.
A few yards away, came the soft crack of a branch. Panic clamoured inside her skull, making it impossible to think straight. She forced the volume down, took a few deep breaths, let them out slowly.
Calmer, Abby crouched down and moved as quietly and carefully as possible in the direction she was pretty sure led back to the car. Though she could be mistaken about that. She could only go with her instincts, and pray they didn’t betray her.
The ground was spongy under her feet and her sneakers made squishing noises as she walked. She was grateful there was sufficient moonlight to guide her step. When she could no longer hear the hunters in pursuit, she picked up speed.
~*~
Ken Roach stood among a copse of birch trees, listening. Had he heard something? Then he heard it again — a hard rustle of leaves nearby. Or was it just the wind on the lake? No, she was just to his left, moving fast though. He turned in the direction of the sound and followed, hurrying, Dog following in his wake, silent as if he wasn’t there at all. He was a good tracker.
She was headed back toward the cabin. He had to reach her before she got there. Tattoo had stayed behind, curled up in the back seat of her car, clutching a wad of bandage to his ruined eye. She’d really done a job on him. He’d been moaning with pain when he and Dog took off after her, filling the night with his ugly curses against the woman who had caused it.
But he’d be able to see her just fine out of his good eye when she came barrelling out of those woods, imagining that she had outwitted them. God help Abby Miller if Tattoo got his hands on her. He’d be on her like a frenzied jackal, foaming at the mouth. He’d rip her to pieces.
He crept quietly and steadily behind her; he had to get to her before Tattoo did. Or the whole plan would blow up in his face.
Ken Roach couldn’t let that happen. At least not until he got what he came for.
Chapter 10
Sally Nichols packed her clothes into the tapestry suitcase which lay open on the bed. She had fallen asleep on the sofa after drinking the second glass of wine and watching something on TV she couldn’t recall, then woke around eleven. She’d had a bad dream that left her clammy with perspiration and more anxious than ever about what was going on with her mom and dad. She’d seen their frightened faces in the dream, but could recall no other details. Yet the chill of it lingered like a dark presence at the edge of her consciousness. She’d just have to risk waking them up. They’ll forgive me, she thought. Which of course they would. In fact, knowing them, they’d lie and pretend they hadn’t even gone to bed yet.
But the phone rang and rang on the other end, without answer. Even if they had gone into Erinville, they’d be home long before now. If they’d decided to take a little trip somewhere, a rare occurrence being the homebodies they were, they would have let her know. Sally closed the phone, frowned at it. Then she opened it again and dialled the police detachment in Three Brooks. As she waited for someone to answer, the sense of unease blossomed into a sick fear. Be calm. There has to be a logical explanation. Of course there would be.
“Police, Three Brooks,” the woman said.
Sally introduced herself and explained the reason for her call. “My parents are Hartley and Ethel Nichols.” She described the location of the farmhouse. The woman said she knew it well. “I’ve been trying to get them on the phone for hours but there’s no answer at the house. They’re
in their eighties now and I’m really worried about them.”
“Could they be visiting...?”
“No, not this late.” Her hand was damp on the plastic phone. “And they wouldn’t go any distance without letting me know. We’re close. They’d leave word on my phone where I could reach them. I’m a wreck.” She gave a small chuckle of self-deprecation, but it held little humor. “I’m probably over-reacting. But I wondered if you couldn’t send someone out there just to check on them.”
“Sure,” the woman said. She had a deep, calming voice. “I’m Betty Clair by the way. Dispatcher here.” She promised they would definitely check things out and get back to her. Sally gave her number.
When Sally hung up, she felt only slightly better. Could Dad have had an accident and maybe Mom was out there in the night with him, not knowing what to do. Maybe he fell with that bad hip that never healed right and now lay helpless? But that didn’t make sense. Her mother would have rushed back to the house and called 911. Sally decided she wouldn’t wait for a call back, in fact she wouldn’t wait another minute to head home. If she drove straight through she’d be in Three Brooks by morning. Remembering she had a house to show tomorrow, she dialled the office and left a message cancelling the appointment, and letting her boss know she would be out of town for a few days. If she lost the sale, so be it. She put Tara in her cage and carried her upstairs to Mrs. Brimm, who answered Sally’s knock in robe and slippers. She sloughed off Sally’s apology, and seemed only a little surprised at the late hour visit, but obligingly took Tara from her. “She’ll be fine, dear. We love Tara, don’t we, Henry,” she said to the cat who sat on the floor looking up at them out of bright green eyes. She gave Sally a hug. “You go and check on your mom and dad. You’re a good daughter, Sally.”
Sally thanked her profusely and hurried back down to her own apartment. Zipping up the suitcase, totally forgetting about a bathing suit, she changed into sweats and sneakers, grabbed her bag and locking the door after her, headed out into the night.
A night filled with stars and quiet. All Sally’s good feelings about the sale tonight, which would bring her a very healthy commission, slipped away at the thought of something happening to her parents. Her small triumphs would be meaningless without the two people who meant the world to her to share them with.
Sally lowered her foot on the gas pedal and the little car shot forward, its tires swallowing up the miles of black pavement, twin circles of light leading the way toward her childhood home.
~*~
After breaking the connection with Sally Nichols, Betty Clair gave the Nichols’ house a call, but like Sally, she got no answer. She swung around in her swivel chair to face Detective Al Redding who was tilted back in his own chair reading a Tom Clancy novel. Clancy was one of Al’s favorites. Too bad about him dying. All those books Al wouldn’t get to read. Made her think of Al’s heart attack last winter. A mild one, but a scare just the same. It was why he was here in Three Brooks, an easier post than Erinville, though he was also still attached to the Erinville Department. He was close to fifty, and seemed to take the transfer in his stride. Unlike some of the cops on the force, Al wasn’t an adrenalin junkie. She liked Al’s gentle spirit. Though Detective Al Redding could also be a force to be reckoned with.
Betty was a stocky woman of native ancestry who embraced the spiritual side of life. It was important to her. She wore her black hair, now streaked with white, in one long braid, and had a dimpled smile that showed off nice teeth. Owed to good genes, she always said. She was the mother of three grown boys, and soon to be a grandma. Divorced from an abusive husband. She finally stopped trying to fix him and gave him up to God. Betty was grateful for this job; it had gotten her through some very bad times. Aside from that, she enjoyed being a police dispatcher because it was interesting work, and there was usually something going on to give you a laugh. Occasionally there was sadness, like the O’Donnell boy drowning in a deep part of Second Brook a couple of years back. But the job also appealed to her because not much in the way of serious crime happened around here to interfere with the serenity of the place and that was just the way she liked it.
Al felt her looking at him and turned around. “What’s up?”
Al was a heavy-set man, middle-aged now, softening some around the middle, but in Betty’s opinion, still handsome as ever. Widowed, but still in love with his wife. “Do you know where the Nichols farm is?” she asked him.
“Sure do. My dad used to take me with him now and again when he visited Hartley. Ethel — although my father would have boxed my ears for me if I’d called her by her first name back then — always had a home-baked cookie for me. Good people. Why?”
“Their daughter just called from Halifax. She’s worried about her folks. Can’t get them on the phone. I tried too, but no answer. Didn’t hear anything about the phones being out, Al. She wants us to send someone out there to check things out. Make sure they’re okay.”
“Sure.” He reluctantly slid a bookmark into his paperback, stood up and adjusted the Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap over his steely-grey hair. He shrugged into his dark nylon jacket which hid the gun in its holster. He was plain clothes and not a stickler for dress code. She wasn’t even sure he knew there was one.
“I’ll head on out there now.”
Chapter 11
Abby could see her blue Honda Civic through the trees; it looked black in the moonlight, chrome handles and trim gleaming. Surprisingly, she managed to come out in exactly the right place, evidence that survival training in the Girl Scouts had paid off. She stood behind a tall pine, at the edge of the woods, about two hundred yards from the cabin. She surveyed her surroundings, taking in the stretch of woods in either direction.
Her hair was wet from the dripping leaves. Her sneakers drenched, making squelching noises with each step she took. But discomfort was the least of her problems. She played with the key ring in her hand as she visualized herself getting into the car, sliding it into the ignition and speeding away from here. She listened, but heard only her own raspy breathing, her racing heart. She was sure that it would not have occurred to them she would come back here. But the thought of leaving her cover of darkness and crossing the open stretch between herself and the car, was terrifying.
The light from the kerosene lamp glowed in the cabin window. But it was no longer inviting, held little appeal for her, in fact. Their secret place was violated now. Would she be violated as well? No damn it, not if she had anything to say about it. She had to make it to the car before they spotted her. Abby reminded herself how she used to run every day. Writing was sedentary work and she ran to keep in shape, both mentally and physically. But that was months ago.
Never mind. Get in the zone, like you used to when you ran, she told herself. She closed her eyes. And then there was no more time to consider. No more time for thinking. She could hear them now behind her. The snapping of twigs, rustling leaves, soft murmurs of conversation. Thumping, hurrying footsteps. Go Abby. Go now.
Like a gazelle, Abby burst into the open and flew across the open field toward the car, key clutched in her hand.
While the hunter lay in wait.
~*~
At first Big Jim Ellison, tagged Tattoo, didn’t see her. He was hunkered down in the back seat nursing his ruined eye, feeling as trapped by it as if he were still in a cell.
He had earned his years behind bars for raping and murdering two twelve-year-old girls who’d been riding their bicycles along a country road one Saturday morning. He’d clipped them with his truck, knocking them off their bikes, then dragged them into the woods. Their bodies were discovered days later by an elderly woman and her dog, but he’d savaged them so brutally, she barely recognized them as human, let alone the two beautiful little girls they had been. Their names were Peggy Lamb and Christine Dobson, best friends since first grade. He was suspected of other murders as well, but they could never be proven and he had no plan to confess or tell them where the bodies were,
though for years they tried to pry the information from him. Even begged on behalf of the parents of his victims who needed some closure, but he just laughed that heinous laugh and kept his secrets buried in his own dark heart.
He didn’t keep trophies like a lot of serial killers. He barely remembered his victims. But he did remember the bitch who hurt him. He held the bandage to his damaged eye, or what was left of it. The eye throbbed, fire screamed from it. But his animal instincts were intact and finely honed. And it was that that made him turn his head in time to see her out of his one good eye, flying through the moonlit night toward him. He thought at first he was seeing things, that his lust for revenge was playing tricks on him. But there she was, in the flesh, long legs pumping as she ran, bringing her ever closer to him. His fists tightened. The vein in his jaw pulsed and a grimace of anticipation crossed his face at the thought of wreaking vengeance on her in a way she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Even the serpent tattooed on his face seemed to grin, its black eye gleaming as if alive.
He slid further down in the back seat, letting the bandage fall to the floor; he lowered himself after it, out of sight. The pain in his eye forgotten, he poised to spring as he waited for the door to open.
Chapter 12
Detective Al Redding’s footfalls sounded hollow as he walked up the familiar steps to the Nichol’s front door and knocked. Receiving no answer, he called out Hartley’s name. Farmers rose at the crack of dawn, and that habit wasn’t broken just because they no longer farmed. It was the way it had been with his own dad. He pressed the doorbell and heard it ring inside the house, emphasizing the eerie silence around him. He looked around. Moonlight spread its soft glow over the landscape. Hartley’s truck wasn’t parked in its usual spot, which he’d noticed on arriving.
The Deepest Dark Page 5
