Chapter Twenty - Two #2
After several minutes, I feel the rope give, and one of my hands pops free.
I release a hard exhale and bring my hands around, massaging the bright-red marks left behind.
I touch a finger to the goose egg on my forehead where Doyle hit me and wince.
Then I knock the rope off my other hand and race for the window.
It’s set high, but I can still reach the locks.
After some prying and pushing, I manage to force the locks open.
I try to push the window up, but it doesn’t budge.
I try again, harder. It still won’t move.
The old congealed paint around the edges acts like superglue.
I spend the next few minutes fighting it from every angle with no success.
A fluttering jolt seizes my chest, but I refuse to give in to it.
I’ll find a way out. I’ll break the window.
I look under the bed but only see the shoebox Eddie had in his hands last time I was here.
That’s not going to break a window. I turn and eye the metal dolls.
Maybe. Then I hear footsteps clunking down the hallway.
I fly onto the bed, under the covers, placing my hands behind my back. The doorknob turns. I see the rope discarded on the floor. I want to reach for it, but it’s too late. A lock turns, and the door swings open.
I shut my eyes. The air in the room shifts, changes, as a mass moves from the doorway to the room. Then something sharp pokes me. I flutter my eyes open. Eddie hovers over me, holding a long stick. He pokes me again. “Alive?”
“Of course she’s alive.”
Doyle moves from behind Eddie and studies me as if he may not be so sure. His cheeks are streaked with dried blood from where I scratched him.
I maneuver myself to a seated position. I focus on Doyle. I swallow the rage at what he’s done. I have to stay calm, speak to him without putting him on the defense. “Doyle, I need to leave.”
He shakes his head.
“No leave. Not safe,” Eddie says. His face drops, and he starts to rock on his feet, heel to toe. He rubs his huge arms, and his breathing becomes labored.
“It’s okay, Eddie.” I glance at the rope on the floor. They haven’t noticed it yet. “Everything’s fine.” He stops rocking.
I look at Doyle.
He shuffles on his feet. “I called the police.”
A wave of relief washes over me. “Oh, thank God.” Then I meet Doyle’s gaze. “Which police did you call?”
“Raymond,” he says.
I open my mouth to speak, and a loud knocking comes from the front room.
“Don’t answer it,” I say to Doyle.
“Hello? Anyone home?” a man yells from the front porch.
I recognize the voice. My heart stops a moment, then picks back up double time.
Another loud knock.
“Somebody answer the goddamn door!” Liv Arceneaux’s voice erupts from a room nearby. I completely forgot about her. Does she know I’m trapped in here?
“Call Travis,” I say to Doyle. “Get me out of here.”
I hear the front door open. “Hello?”
Doyle studies me a minute, then runs from the room.
I shut the door and look at Eddie. “Eddie, I need you to do me a favor.”
He stares at me but doesn’t answer.
“I can get you more metal pieces, if you do.”
He nods. I listen as Doyle and Raymond talk in the front room.
I look toward the window. “I need you to open that window for me.”
The voices in the front room grow louder, heated.
“Now!” I whisper at Eddie.
Eddie lumbers to the window and lifts the pane with one motion, with one hand. The old paint pops and cracks as the pane slides upward. Hot night air and insects rush into the room.
The window is high enough that I’ll have to hook my hands on the lower eave to pull myself up and through.
A gunshot erupts from the front of the house.
Eddie covers his ears and wails.
I hoist myself up and through the opening so fast that I fall out on the other side.
My shoulder and side hit the ground hard.
Mud splashes in my face. I ignore the pain in my arm, jumping up and running for the edge of the property before I can even think of where the road is.
Mud from the recent rain sucks at my bare feet like quicksand, but I keep running, scanning the dark yard for the driveway.
I feel disoriented and nauseated, and I’m having a hard time figuring out which direction I’m running.
Then I see a car parked at an odd angle near the playground equipment.
It’s not an old junker like the others. It’s new.
It could have keys. I crouch as I run for it.
Clouds whisk overhead and cover the moon, plunging me into darkness, but my eyes have adjusted as I ease along the side of the car. I try the driver’s door. It’s locked. I try the remaining three doors, and they are locked as well. I peer through the window but don’t see any keys.
Then I see a light, scanning the yard from the woods.
A flashlight. I crouch low. I duck next to the back tire and watch the house.
Frogs croak from every corner of the yard.
I can see the driveway. It’s so close. But how fast can I really run with bare feet and what feels like a slight concussion?
The answer comes quickly: fast enough to save my life.
I push up from my crouched position and start for the road when large floodlights come to life on either side of the house. The front yard is illuminated like a runway. I duck back into the shadows, searching for another exit.
My gaze stops on the shed a few feet away. It looks like a work shed. Eddie’s metal shop. Something catches my eye in the corner of the shed. A shape that looks familiar. But as I try to focus on it, the front door flies open. Eddie thunders out, yelling into the night, “She don’t wanna be alone!”
Then I hear Travis yell. “Willa!”
A long, shuddering breath escapes me. “Over here,” I yell back.
A flashlight beam whips in my direction. Travis runs for me, and when he reaches me, I collapse into his chest.
“It’s okay,” he says into my hair. “It’s okay.”
“Travis, Raymond . . .”
“I know.” He lifts my head. “I followed him out here. I still have my police scanner. Willa, he’s dead.” He glances over my shoulder. “Where’s Doyle?”
“What?”
“He ran when I came in.”
Crickets sing their nightly sounds. My pulse pounds against my chest. Every noise feels amplified. Every shape becomes clearer. The shed. The car. I squint at it. The car. I know that car. Oh my God. It’s Rita’s. I turn to Travis, my mouth falling open but no words escaping.
“Where is he?” Travis says.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t like this.” Travis grabs my hand and pulls me toward the back of the shed. His truck is parked on the back side, out of sight. He opens the passenger door. “Get in.”
“I’m not staying out here alone.”
“Lock the doors,” he says, and he runs for the house.
My eyes dart to the car’s console. I don’t see the keys.
I jump from the passenger seat and race around to the driver’s side.
When I’m behind the wheel, I press the brake and push the starter.
A message appears on the dash: KEY NOT DETECTED.
I try again. Same response. I scan the dash and its electronics.
Nothing is illuminated. There’s no way to call for help.
Maybe a neighbor heard the gunshot and will call the police, but I can’t bank on that.
I have to assume we’re out here alone. And I’m out here alone without a weapon.
A loud banging startles me, and I look up to see Eddie pounding on the back windshield. I slam the driver’s door shut and punch the lock button. Eddie tromps to my side of the car. He presses his face to the window.
“Brother says to get you.”
Brother. Doyle.
Eddie tries the door handle but can’t get in. I back away. He bangs the window with a giant flat palm. I scramble over the middle console to the passenger side, keeping my eyes on him as he moves around the front and toward the passenger window.
He bangs the window again. Then he raises his other hand, and I scream. He’s holding a hammer.
In one sharp movement, he smashes the passenger-side window.
Shards of safety glass cover me. Eddie reaches through the window and unlocks the door.
I try to scurry back across to the driver’s side, but Eddie grabs my ankles and yanks me through the open car door.
I hit the ground hard, my T-shirt now up around my head.
I kick my legs as much as possible, but Eddie’s grip is strong.
“No fight,” he says. He releases my legs and grabs my arms instead, pulling me to standing. He smooths my T-shirt down, looking away from my bare chest as he does. “No hurt.”
I stay very still. Eddie looks at me with sad eyes. “Mama’s gone.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Where is she?”
Eddie grips my arms tighter. “Dead.”
“How’d she die, Eddie?”
He breaks my eye contact. “Brother.” I feel his arms start to tremble.
I keep my voice as calm as I can. “Please don’t let him hurt me.”
Eddie’s viselike grip doesn’t let up. He wraps an arm around me and, with the other hand clamped over my mouth, drags me to the back of the house.
I dig my bare feet into the ground, but little good it does.
His strength is uncanny. At the back of the house, Doyle is waiting for us.
The harder I struggle, the tighter Eddie holds me.
“Stop it,” Doyle says in a sharp whisper.
I stop moving. Something about Doyle is bothering me. Confusing me. Then Doyle raises my gun. I flinch and struggle, but he doesn’t point it at me. He points it over my shoulder.
Eddie lowers his hand from my mouth. Doyle finds my gaze. And that’s when I see it. He’s terrified. Slowly, I turn to look behind me.
Travis is standing there, his service weapon raised.
“Wait!” I scream, but it’s too late.
A gunshot explodes in the thick night air, and the side of Doyle’s skull explodes with it. He falls to the ground in a heap of blood. Eddie wails like an animal, his grip on my arms tightening as my legs weaken and my body sags.
“No! No, no, no, no, no.” It’s all I can say. Over and over and over.
My ears ring as Travis inches toward me. “I . . . I . . . don’t think he was going to hurt me.” I look at Travis. “He wanted to help me.”
“I know that, Willa.” Travis cocks his head to one side, runs the barrel of his gun down my cheek. “That was the problem.”