Sarah Winston Garage Sale 01 - Tagged for Death

by Sherry Harris

  He dragged me back toward my door and opened it. In my rush to leave, I hadn’t even locked it. I kicked and pounded the floor as much as I could. I hoped he was lying about Stella. Since he didn’t seem to mind, I stopped. I was wearing myself out. I didn’t know when I’d have a chance to escape. I had to be ready for it.

  Tyler released me. I turned in time to see his fisted hand heading at me. I threw my arms up to protect my head. The blow landed right above my belly button. It flung me back on the couch. My head cracked against the plaster wall.

  My eyes blurred with tears. My nose and mouth filled with mucus. I gasped in little pants of breath. No one had ever hit me before. I didn’t realize one punch could create so much pain. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes. I could hear Tyler rummaging around in my kitchen.

  I stood, but I doubled over. I wrapped one arm around my waist. I reached a hand out, searching for something to balance on. My hand landed on the trunk I used as a coffee table. If only I kept a knife on it or a heavy vase. I didn’t think the latest issue of Flea Market Finds would let me beat Tyler senseless, which was what I really wanted to do right now.

  I hobbled forward a step before I realized he stood there, watching me. He cracked me across my jaw with his open hand. Pushed me back on the couch. I tried to curl away from him. Tyler sat on my issue of Flea Market Finds and cut a length of duct tape. He must have found it under my kitchen sink with my kitchen shears. I screamed, even though my throat was raw, hoping someone out on the common would hear me.

  I kicked out at him. He pinioned my legs between his. He wrapped duct tape around my arms until I couldn’t move them. Tyler cursed once, but he mostly ignored me. I was about as threatening as Lexi. He seemed so calm, even though his breathing sounded jagged like mine.

  He looped layers of duct tape around my ankles until I wouldn’t be able to walk. Tyler headed into my bedroom. He came back with one of my white gym socks and stuffed it in my mouth. I almost retched. After a quick nod, he left.

  I started working my mouth, sore jaw, and tongue, trying to get the sock out. My jaw already ached from having my mouth braced open. I inched the sock forward enough to give my gag reflex a break. I managed to get a bit of the sock out, but part of it dangled on my chin.

  The door swung open. Tyler stepped back in and yanked a girl in behind him: Tiffany.

  CHAPTER 31

  She wasn’t dead. A thousand questions ran through my mind and not one answer. Her mouth was duct-taped shut. Her greasy hair looked tangled. Her eyes were red and swollen, like she’d been crying. A lot. Maybe for days. She wore leggings and a loose sweater. Tyler had duct-taped her hands behind her back. He pushed her down on the couch next to me. She didn’t even try to fight when he pulled my roll of duct tape out of the pocket of his hoodie and taped her legs together.

  He stood over us, looking back and forth. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a terrible headache. It looked like he wondered how his life had come to this point. I knew I did. He snatched the sock out of my mouth and tossed it across the room. I gulped in air.

  “Don’t do this,” I said between breaths. “Just go. We won’t tell anyone. We’ll come up with a story between us somehow.”

  Tiffany nodded frantically.

  “I may be from coal country,” Tyler said with an exaggerated Southern drawl, “but as my mama always tol’ me, I didn’t fall off no turnip truck.” He unrolled a four-inch piece of duct tape, slapping it over my mouth. He rubbed across it until it was good and stuck. He stepped back and put his hands on his hips, like he hadn’t planned his next move. I just hoped maybe he hadn’t.

  He scanned my living room and spotted my box of curtains. I’d never taken the time to put it away. Tyler picked up one of the blue silk ones I’d decided not to hang. After jerking me up off the couch, he wrapped me in the curtain. It wasn’t tight, but it covered me head to toe. He tossed me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The top of the curtain flapped over my head. I couldn’t see anything, but I could tell he was trotting down the steps.

  Cold air seeped through the curtain. We must be outside. Tyler tossed me back down. My head hit something hard. A door slammed. I thrashed around, trying to wiggle out of the curtain. I wanted to see where he’d dumped me. Then I smelled cinnamon. It stopped me. I must be in the back of my Suburban. “Don’t ever go to a second location.” I’d learned that watching Oprah. Nothing good ever happened at a second location. I struggled against the curtain and duct tape.

  I listened, waiting for the engine to start. Footsteps headed toward me. I rolled from side to side, trying to make the Suburban move. Maybe whoever it was would see it and come investigate. The back door popped open and cold air rushed in. Something thumped and the Suburban shifted. Tyler must have put Tiffany beside me.

  I expected to hear the doors slam shut again. Instead, stuff was tossed on top of me. A crinkle of plastic made me think it was bags of clothes. Even if we did somehow manage to free ourselves or even sit up, if someone glanced in the back of the Suburban, all they would see would be junk.

  The engine fired up and the Suburban began to move. We backed out onto the street. We turned right onto Great Road toward Bedford. I tried to keep track of where we were. Tyler went straight for a bit. He started a series of turns. I couldn’t keep up with them. He stayed at a steady pace, not too fast or too slow—nothing that would attract attention.

  Maybe an Ellington police officer, one of the many who liked to stop me, would spot my car and pull us over.

  Pellner, please be out on patrol. Notice I’m not driving and pull us over.

  Tiffany was near me; because on sharp turns, we’d roll into each other. After driving about ten minutes, we made another turn. The Suburban bumped along. We were on a dirt road. That couldn’t be good.

  Tyler drove a few more minutes before rolling to a stop. The driver’s door creaked open and then slammed, rocking the Suburban. I waited, listening, worked to loosen my arms from the duct tape. The back of the Suburban opened. Tyler grabbed my ankles and dragged me out before tossing me over his shoulder again. He huffed as he carried me and muttered something about someone could stand to lose a few pounds.

  He dropped me, jarring my bones, on a cold, possibly dirt floor. I smelled hay and earth. I rolled onto my back, tossing my head until I freed myself from the curtain around my face. Light filtered in from somewhere. I saw beams, unfinished wooden walls, and tall stacks of hay bales. I was in a barn. They dotted this area. I could be anyplace. Tyler had left me in a space between the hay and the wall; my head was near the wall, my feet by the bales.

  The bales on the bottom sagged a little. The twine holding them together looked old. An odd musty smell emanated from them.

  I listened for a moo or a snort, something that would give me hope we weren’t in an abandoned barn. I heard some scratchy, rustling sounds and figured it was mice, hoped it wasn’t rats. Prayed they wouldn’t come over to investigate. A few minutes later, Tyler tossed Tiffany beside me. Then he left. I wondered if he was coming back or someone would just find our rotting bodies someday. Tyler returned a few minutes later and set a smoothbore musket, just like the ones that were in Betty’s husband’s gun cabinet, in the corner.

  “Damn town’s so quiet, no way I can shoot you two without everyone knowing. Too many people at the shooting range to take you out there. I’ll be back later. When someone does find you, it will be too late to figure out why you’re here. Maybe even who you are.”

  Tyler left. The Suburban fired up and drove away. I pictured the bits of metal at the bottom of the glass at Betty’s house. No wonder Tyler said no one would recognize us. A blank would blow our faces into thousands of smidgens of flesh and bone.

  I worked on my arms until I was so tired, I couldn’t move anymore. Tiffany was either knocked out or asleep. I couldn’t tell which. Eventually I fell asleep, too. I was too tired to struggle, too tired to fight.

  The sound of a gunshot woke me. Another p
hone call. The ache in my back and cold reminded me where I was. Right now, a phone call with a gunshot didn’t sound so bad. Bright light filtered through cracks in the barn. It must be midmorning. I was supposed to be at Betty’s house running her garage sale. She must be furious with me.

  The single shot was followed by a far-off volley. Shouts rang through the crisp air. We were in Lincoln. I knew what Tyler had planned. Today was the Bloody Angle Battle Demonstration at the Minute Man National Historical Park. The event commemorated the first time the colonials fired on the British soldiers. I could hear the words ringing in my head: “Fire, men. For God’s sake, fire.” They did, and a war was born. Later, Emerson had coined the famous phrase “the shot heard round the world” in his poem “Concord Hymn.”

  During the demonstration, minutemen chased the British Regulars from the Bloody Angle to the Sam Hartwell House in Lincoln. The battle passed by the Hartwell Tavern. This old barn was by the Hartwell Tavern. I’d watched the reenactment enough times to know the troops would run by the barn, but not come in. The barn was all but abandoned.

  Tyler would be back anytime. He’d said it was too quiet around here to get away with shooting someone. The fire from the reenactors would cover the sound of Tyler’s gunshots. Tyler could easily shoot us and no one would think anything was out of the ordinary. If we were found shot by the musket, everyone would assume we were in the wrong place, that something had gone horribly wrong. Tyler would disappear.

  I wriggled around until I was completely free of the curtain Tyler had draped over me. I kicked at Tiffany with my feet. She stirred and the curtain fell from her face. Her eyes grew large as she registered the gunshots; what was about to happen to us dawned on her, too. She started struggling against her ties. At least CJ wouldn’t be blamed for our murders because he was still in jail. I was filled with a thousand regrets of what I should have done and said, but it was too late.

  I stared up at the tall bales of hay. I worked on my binds again. Nothing gave. The duct tape was as tight as when Tyler had wrapped it around me. I closed my eyes, wondering when he’d come back. The shots were getting closer as the minutemen chased the Regulars back toward the Sam Hartwell House. I pictured all the people lined up and down the trail, watching the reenactors, not knowing that only feet away two women were hog-tied and helpless.

  Tiffany sniffled. God, she was young. Whatever she’d done, she didn’t deserve this. Adrenaline surged through me. I kicked my bound feet at the bottom bale of hay. I wasn’t sure what it would do, but it was better than doing nothing. I hoped the stack would fall over and draw someone’s attention. Maybe it would topple over and kill us before Tyler got a chance. The duct tape around my ankles loosened, just a bit, as I kicked. Tiffany stopped sniffling. Using a wormlike motion, she inched her way over and started kicking, too.

  At first, nothing happened, but we kept at it. Some of the hay broke away around our feet. The bales didn’t budge. We panted as much as we could with duct-taped mouths. We both stopped for a moment. A new volley of shots got us going again. Too close. Time almost had to be up. I kicked and kicked, pretending I was kicking Tyler’s face.

  “What the hell?” Tiffany and I turned our heads toward Tyler. He was dressed in red, the uniform of the British Regulars. He blended right in with the crowd outside.

  Tiffany and I looked at each other and started kicking again. Tyler cursed. He grabbed the musket he left last night. I remembered Betty telling me it took an expert about fifteen to twenty seconds to load and fire one. Not much time to save ourselves. Fortunately for us, Tyler was no expert. He cocked the hammer of the musket back halfway and took a paper tube out of his pocket. He ripped off the end with his mouth, poured some black powder into the musket, dropped in the paper and a musket ball. Tyler tamped it all in with a ramrod. He poured more gunpowder in the top of the musket near the hammer and closed it by flipping a part on the top.

  We kicked at the hay the whole time he loaded the gun. Sweat poured off our faces. With my mouth taped shut, breathing flared my nostrils. I wasn’t sure if my light-headedness was from fear or a lack of oxygen. Tyler pointed the musket at Tiffany’s head.

  “After what Tiffany did to you, you ought to get to watch her die.”

  I gave the hay bale another kick. The hay teetered, but it settled back into place. Tyler inched the hammer back. I kicked again. The string holding the bottom bale sprang loose. The bales rocked. The top ones tumbled loose. The first knocked the musket out of Tyler’s hands. It went off with a deafening blast. He screamed and put his hands up, trying to ward off the heavy bales. One hit him square in the chest. It knocked him to the ground.

  Others fell, slamming around us, shaking the ground. The air filled with hay and dust. One after the other rained down around us until they landed on us with crushing blows.

  All was dark and quiet. I could barely draw a breath with the weight of a bale on my chest. I hoped Tyler couldn’t, either. If this was it, at least I’d gone out with a fight.

  CHAPTER 32

  “What the heck happened in here?” a man asked.

  “Looks like the hay fell over.”

  “I’m not stupid, George. I can see that.”

  “Let’s go. They’re getting to the good part. I love watching the British hightail it back toward Boston. We can worry about this after the crowds leave.”

  No, no, no! Don’t leave.

  I sucked in a small breath of air. My upper body was pinned, but my legs weren’t trapped. I thrashed around, hoping it wasn’t too late or that I was too far under to be seen. I kicked some more, feeling light-headed and beyond any sort of weariness I’d ever experienced.

  “What’s that, Gus?”

  “Don’t know. Might be a dang snake. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No. Looks like a foot. We’d better call someone.”

  I heard shouts; minutes later, the weight was lifted off my chest. Someone brushed the straw off my face. A grizzled face peered into mine. Sirens wailed from somewhere.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. I moved my hand as much as I could, making a V with two fingers. The guy staring at me looked puzzled. He eyed the duct tape across my mouth. I wiggled the two fingers at him, then jerked my head at the straw.

  “There’s two more in here?”

  I nodded again.

  “We need some help in here!” the guy yelled out the door.

  Sirens wailed, sounding closer and closer. The barn filled with British and colonial reenactors. Men heaved bales of hay out of the way. They found Tiffany first. She had a painful looking knot on her forehead, but her eyes were alert.

  “Someone’s over here.”

  EMTs ran in.

  “This guy looks half dead, but he has a pulse,” one of them said.

  Two of the EMTs lifted me onto a board and snapped a brace around my neck. They carried me to an ambulance. One cut the duct tape, freeing my arms and legs. The other hustled back to the barn. I saw Tyler being rolled out of the barn on a gurney and loaded into an ambulance. Part of me wished one of the hay bales had killed him. The doors slammed and the ambulance took off. Two other EMTs rolled Tiffany toward the back of another ambulance. She gave me a long look before she disappeared inside.

  My EMT looked at the duct tape on my mouth. “I’ll be as gentle as I can. It’s probably going to hurt.”

  I guessed that was an understatement of huge proportions. He started at one corner, tugging gently on the tape toward my mouth. He did the same at each corner, prying up as much as he could.

  Scott Pellner stuck his head in the ambulance. The EMT held a hand up for him to stop.

  “I’ll count to three, then rip.”

  I lifted my chin.

  “One, two—” He ripped; it stung; my eyes filled. I sucked in deep breaths of air. The EMT applied some kind of salve on my lips that took some of the sting away.

  “Thank you.” I looked over at Pellner. He probably enjoyed watching that. His face looked a l
ittle pale and he shuddered.

  The EMT put a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

  “Feel like talking?” Pellner asked.

  I stretched my mouth around. Touched my tender lips. “Yes, of course. The man in the ambulance was my next-door neighbor Tyler Shimkus. He was going to kill us. I think he probably killed Jessica.”

  Pellner used his mike to notify someone to put a guard on Tyler. When he finished, I managed to give Pellner a fairly calm version of the rest of the events. I had to take a couple of deep breaths when I got to the part with the musket pointing first at my head and then at Tiffany’s.

  “I’m sorry,” Pellner said.

  That’s not what I expected to hear. “Why?”

  “I knew something was wrong. I tried to stop it. That night I pulled you over and hauled you to the station, I was sure someone was after you. They disappeared before I got them.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have believed me? You’ve been darn sure I was a bad cop. Out to get you.”

  I stared at him. “You messed up my license plate on purpose.”

  “I figured the only way to keep you safe that night was to make sure you were at the station. I cleaned it before I left the station.”

  All this time, I thought CJ had cleaned it for me.

  “On the drive to the station, you made sure I was tossed around the back of your car.”

  He shook his head. “One of the guys thought he saw the gray sedan you’d spotted that night over near the Bedford border. I was hauling ass trying to catch up. Wanted to see if you could confirm that was the car.”

  I remembered blasts of codes coming out of his radio. “You went to my apartment and destroyed it.”

  “I went to your apartment to make sure it was safe before you got home. Tyler must be the one that tossed it. I’ve always wondered what he was looking for.”