DON'T TELL (Jack Ryder Book 7)

by Willow Rose

  “Easy there, Abigail,” Shannon said. “He’s still in a lot of pain.”

  “Are you, Daddy?” she said, her big blue eyes looking up at me. Those eyes just about made my heart stop.

  I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I’m getting better.”

  The other kids came up behind Abigail, Tyler waddling, then tripping and falling flat on his face in the snow. Shannon ran to help him up. Tyler wailed as his face emerged from the snow, and Shannon kissed his red cheeks. As soon as he saw me, the tears stopped, and he remembered his mission. I reached out my one arm that wasn’t leaning on the cane and grabbed him from Shannon. He hugged me tightly.

  “Say, have you grown?” I asked. “You feel heavier, and you look a lot taller than when I last saw you.”

  Tyler’s face lit up. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be as tall as his siblings. He hugged me again, then grew tired of being held and squirmed to let me know he wanted to get down. I put him down, and he waddled off, while Betsy Sue and Angela came up to me.

  “I am so glad you’re back,” Angela said and hugged me. I looked into her eyes and realized she was growing into looking like her mother more and more each day. She was going to be quite the looker, that one, but then again, all my girls were beautiful. Even Betsy Sue who had reached that awkward puberty age with all the hormone pimples spreading across her cheeks and forehead. To me, she was still the most beautiful girl in the world. It was all in her eyes. I hugged her too, and she hurried away shyly, the way she always did. I looked behind the kids, then around us.

  “Where’s Austin?”

  I looked at his sister when asking, and she shrugged. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”

  “He wasn’t playing with you out here?” I asked.

  Abigail shook her head. “He was out here just a moment ago, watching us, but he didn’t want to play. He just sat there, all angry and stuff. Like he has been all week.”

  “Maybe he went back inside,” Shannon said and started walking toward the porch, where Bridget now came out.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Ryder,” she said, taking off her glasses. In her hand, she was holding a book. She kept a finger placed inside of it, keeping her on the page she had reached.

  “Thank you. Do you have Austin inside with you?” I asked, feeling anxious.

  She looked puzzled. “Well, no. I sent them all outside to play, thinking a little fresh air would do them good. I’ve been watching them through the window while reading.”

  77

  “AUSTIN!”

  I limped around the house while calling his name, panic rushing through me. Shannon went inside the house and seconds later she came back out, holding a stack of papers in her hand.

  “Jack, come look at this.”

  I was standing in the area behind the house where Abigail had told me she had last seen him sitting. I looked around me, not seeing any trace of him. Shannon walked up to me and showed the papers to me. They were drawings, Austin’s drawings.

  “I think you need to take a look at these,” she said.

  I stared at the pictures my son had been drawing for the past few days and felt my heart drop. All of them showed the scene at the ski school. A lot of them were mostly black and red, but it was still very easy to tell what was going on, and exactly what had happened. The realization hit me like a punch in the stomach.

  “How did we not see this earlier?” Shannon asked, clasping her mouth. “I mean, I watched him while he drew, but I never really looked at them, you know? I never really saw what it was he was drawing. I tried to get him to express himself through music, to get whatever he was carrying out through singing when all the time he used his skills at drawing. This was his outlet, and we failed to see it. All this time the answer was right there.”

  “And because he was told not to tell anyone, he thought he couldn’t, that we would all get killed if he did,” I said. “So, he drew instead. He drew what we needed to know. If only we had seen this sooner.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Shannon said.

  I looked at the neighboring house, anger rising in my throat when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I picked it up and looked at the display. I had received a text from an unknown number. I opened it.

  THE GHOST TOWN. COME ALONE, OR HE DIES.

  “God, no,” I said and read it again, my heart pounding in my chest.

  “What is it, Jack?” Shannon said. “What’s going on?”

  I swallowed, and our eyes met. It was getting darker out, and soon the sun would set behind the mountains, leaving us all in darkness. I had to find Austin before that happened. He had to be terrified.

  “I…I have to go. Can you look after the kids?”

  “What’s going on, Jack?”

  “I can’t tell you.” I stared at her, debating within whether or not to let her in on what I had received in the text. But I didn’t want her to know more since she would only demand that I involve the police, and right now, I didn’t dare to. But, of course, she already suspected.

  “Call the sheriff, Jack, please. Take them with you.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I have to do this alone.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Jack, not in your condition,” Shannon said as I walked toward the car. “Jack?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Jack…you just got out of the hospital. You can barely walk on your own, and this…it could get really dangerous.”

  I shook my head and opened the door to the car, then got in. “I have to do it, Shannon. I have to. I’m sorry.”

  78

  Austin didn’t know where he was. A cloth had been stuffed into his mouth and made it hard for him to breathe properly. He had been blindfolded and tied up. Now he was put down in a seat somewhere. The chair he was sitting in was hard, and he could feel the fresh cold air on his face, which meant he was still outdoors.

  Austin whimpered behind the cloth as he felt the person’s hands let go of him and place his hands on something cold, something that felt like steel. He was crying and wanted to scream but couldn’t.

  Dad? Where are you? I wanna go home now. Please.

  “There you are,” the person said. “All ready.”

  The sound of the person’s voice made Austin shiver. He remembered it vividly from that day at the ski school just as he remembered those eyes that had looked at him before telling him to keep quiet. Those burning eyes with such menace in them it had frightened Austin to silence.

  Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I never did. I promise I won’t.

  Austin felt the tears roll down his cheek and grow cold on his skin. A breeze hit his face, and he shivered. Where was he? It felt so cold, and the wind was so harsh on his skin.

  “There, there. No need to be crying,” the person said and wiped away one of the tears that slid under the blindfold. “Daddy will be here soon, and then you’ll be reunited again. In death.”

  As the person said the words, Austin gasped behind the gag. He screamed but nothing but muffled sounds left his throat, and he felt like he was choking. He wanted to yell; he wanted to scream at his dad to stay away, to not come there, but he couldn’t. Instead, he let more tears escape his eyes and turned his head in the direction of where he thought he heard the person’s voice coming from. It was suddenly a lot farther away.

  “Get ready, my sweet boy, you’re in for quite the ride.”

  As the words fell, the sound of an engine turning on drowned out everything else. It hissed and coughed before finally coming to life, and the next thing Austin knew, he was moving fast through the freezing air, music blasting in his ears.

  79

  The chairlift was running when I reached the entrance to Ghost Town in the Sky. The lights were turned on, running up the mountainside like glowing pearls on a string, lighting up the entire forest surrounding it.

  I parked the car outside the building and stared up at the top of Buck Mountain, where the chairlift ende
d. I exhaled, then leaned over and grabbed my gun out of the glove compartment. Shannon didn’t know it was in there since she hated the thought of guns being even near her and especially the children. She was terrified that one of them would get ahold of it and accidentally shoot themselves or their siblings, so I kept it in a gun case that only my fingerprints could open.

  I placed the gun in the back of my pants and got out, leaning on my cane, I headed toward the lifts. As I sat down on the chair, I felt a rush of anxiety roll over me, fearing for what waited for me once I got up there. I placed the cane on my side and touched the gun briefly to make sure it was still there. I kept my hand on it till the chair approached the top, and I had to get off.

  I almost tripped when I jumped down to the ground and landed on my bad leg, but by placing the cane in the snow, I prevented my fall. I got up properly and looked ahead into the street going through the old Wild West town. With the moon shining down from above me, I could see most of the houses going down the street.

  I passed the old Silver Dollar Saloon and a shop where the sign said OLD TYME PHOTOS and the Golden Nugget Casino. The Mad Hatter shop had lost a couple of letters in its sign and just read THE M D HAT R. The Pack Mule Giftshop still had little trinkets in the windows.

  I had one hand on my cane, the other on the gun behind my back as I walked slowly down the small street. As I walked further, something caught my attention. It was a sound, the sound of music frantically playing from somewhere behind the houses.

  Carousel music.

  What in the…?

  I sprang forward, the best I could in my condition, and walked between two of the old wooden houses when I saw the lit-up roller coaster where the music was playing.

  It was turned on, and the small wagons were rushing through the many turns and loops. The empty carts, along with the frenzied music, made it so eerie the hairs rose on the back of my neck. As I approached the sign where it said: RED DEVIL CLIFFHANGER, I soon realized that not all the wagons were empty. Inside one of them, I spotted someone as it rushed past me, a gust of wind making my hair rise on top of my head. Someone was sitting in the front wagon all alone.

  A little boy.

  “AUSTIN!”

  I walked closer, heart hammering in my chest with worry. Austin hated roller coasters more than anyone since he was terrified of heights and he always got sick to his stomach when riding one.

  “Austin!”

  I hurried toward what looked like a small control house, thinking I might be able to stop the roller coaster in there when the sound of a shot being fired crashed through the crisp air.

  I ducked down, heart pounding in my throat, and looked in the direction from where the sound was coming when I realized the shooter wasn’t aiming at me.

  They were shooting at Austin sitting in the roller coaster.

  80

  The wagons rushed past me again, sending off another gust of air into my face. I wanted to scream as another shot was fired and I heard the bullet ricochet off the side of the wagon. I ducked down not to get hit as it bounced off and hit a tree behind me.

  I looked up at the rooftop of one of the old western houses and spotted movement. I couldn’t really see what it was in the darkness but felt convinced it had to be the shooter.

  Another shot was fired as the wagon once again passed me, and I screamed. I grabbed my gun and lifted it, aiming it toward the rooftop, but then realized I couldn’t see well enough. I wondered if I could find my way into the control house and stop the roller coaster but then realized that if the wagon stood still, it would be even easier for the shooter to hit my son. As long as he was moving, it was harder. I also realized that it was probably what the shooter wanted me to do. To try and stop Austin and get to him, and then he would shoot us both.

  I rose to my feet and rushed to the house as yet another shot was fired, and my heart almost stopped. As I stared helplessly at the racing wagon, I couldn’t see if my son was dead or still alive, and that made me rush to find the stairs on the side of the building. I hurried up there, using my cane to jolt me upward and soon I was on the flat roof, walking closer to the shooter who was lying at the edge, the rifle placed on the ground. My fingers clasped the gun, and I held it out in front of me, ready to make an end of it.

  The shooter reloaded and aimed.

  “Come one step closer, and your son dies,” the voice said.

  “He’s moving fast,” I said, pointing the gun at the shooter. “How will you make sure you hit him before I shoot you?”

  “Did you know I used to be a biathlete?” he said, still following my son through the scope. “The sport where you combine cross country skiing with rifle shooting.”

  “I know what biathlon is,” I said.

  “Good, then you might also know that it’s a sport with roots in old hunting techniques that have been used in Scandinavian countries for centuries. Hunters searched for prey using skis, their rifles attached to their backs. That is also how I trained for my contests…by shooting deer and even smaller animals. You might also know that in a contest, missed shots result in extra distance or time being added to the contest’s total. I represented our proud nation in the winter Olympics in Salt Lake in ‘02 and won gold, the first ever American medal in biathlon because of my shooting. I am a very steady shooter; I never miss if I don’t want to. I can shoot anything, even when moving. A moving target is just more fun. Gives me a challenge, you know?”

  “That was before you became a pastor, I take it,” I said.

  “It most certainly was,” Charles Rutherford said. “Put the gun down, or the kid dies. I have only been having fun with him so far, but I can make it happen in a matter of seconds if you don’t do as I say.”

  I stared at the roller coaster, then down at the pastor. Remembering how great of a shot he had been when I had tried to escape him on the ledge, I didn’t dare take the risk. I put the gun down on the roof.

  “There. Now leave my son alone.”

  “Kick it over here.”

  I did as he told me to while the wagon rushed past us in the distance once more, and I wondered if Austin was still alive inside of it.

  The pastor looked up at me. “You don’t seem surprised. When did you realize I was the one you were looking for?”

  I swallowed. “My son’s drawings. He drew you at the ski school on the day you shot and killed Lyle Bishop. Up until then, I was certain it was your wife. She did, after all, kill Benjamin.”

  “Only to protect her family. She is not a killer. She only did what was necessary, and so did I. She’s the one I’m protecting now,” he said. “She’s my wife. It’s my family you’re threatening to destroy. It’s what families do; we protect each other, no matter what. No matter the cost. She made me realize that. She told me everything when that reporter started snooping around. I told her to calm down and that I would clean up the mess. I decided at that moment that nothing would ever break us apart again.”

  “That’s why you killed everyone who had talked to Eliza and tried to get rid of her too? But it kept adding up. The number of people who knew what was going on kept growing, and so you had to kill more. It wouldn’t stop. You even had to kill a seventeen-year-old girl who had done nothing wrong, the sister of your unborn child. You had hoped she’d kill herself, now that everyone hated her, but she didn’t, so you decided to help her along, am I right?”

  “I thought the text would make her jump over the edge, so to speak. But then you jumped in after her and saved her, and I had to finish the job. If you hadn’t fallen off the ledge, I would have gotten you as well. I knew if I shot you, they wouldn’t have found you till spring if they ever found you. Animals would have eaten most of your bodies.”

  “But why were you so keen on protecting your family? You were the one who was about to destroy it anyway, with Susan being pregnant and all.”

  The pastor grumbled. “That was a mistake. She was a mistake. It should never have happened. I was weak for a minute, and that g
ot me in trouble. It won’t happen again. Beatrice and I found each other again in this, once we both confessed everything to each other. Beatrice came to me when she realized that the journalist was snooping around. She told me what had happened that night and how she had gotten so mad, finally having enough of the boy, she had knocked him out with the fire poker. She told me how he had constantly threatened to reveal her little secret if she didn’t do as he told her…if she didn’t let him have sex with…with our daughter. Can you imagine having to go through something like that as a parent? It was torture for us. We could just see how it was destroying our sweet Penelope, how her infatuation with Benjamin was consuming her. It was about to crush her. And all we could do was watch.

  Meanwhile, he ran around dating that other girl, Savannah and made a complete fool out of Penny. Beatrice didn’t plan on killing him. She simply had enough when she heard how he threatened our son out on the porch after Savannah had left that night. She couldn’t take anymore, and she lost it. On that same night as she confessed all this to me, I also told her about my affair with Susan and the child she was expecting. We agreed to clean up our messes. I would get rid of anyone who posed a threat to us. The plan was to make it look like suicide, so no one could trace it back to us. We promised each other not to let anyone come between us again.”

  “So, you planned on getting rid of Susan too, but you couldn’t get yourself to kill her since she was carrying your child.”

  “I told her to leave town. I even tried to pay her to go. But she refused. She had this idea that we could be together. She begged me to leave Beatrice. I finally explained to her that it was over and that my family means everything to me.”

  “Meanwhile, you were all busy blaming her daughter, Savannah,” I said, “especially Charles Junior, who lied to my wife and told her Savannah had been aggressive toward both him and Benjamin on the night he disappeared. But your wife, Mrs. Rutherford, didn’t want you accusing Savannah. She believed she owed Susan for helping her on the day she killed Benjamin, or maybe she was just afraid that Susan would reveal everything if her daughter was accused of murder. But Susan is done keeping your secrets. She’s talking to the sheriff right now. She told me everything about that night, and now she’s agreed to tell him too. You both relied on her to remain silent, but she won’t keep quiet any more. Not after you killed Savannah, the only one she had left to protect. As we speak, they’re probably coming for your wife and son.”