Chapter 11 – Poppy #2
Thank heavens I had rancher cousins who knew everything about vehicles and showed me when there was nothing better to do one winter.
The alley stretched into darkness, swallowing any light.
I stepped into its shelter, knowing the shadows hid our escape better than any cloak.
They laced grotesque patterns on the ground.
Their phantom fingers wriggled in delight, a frenzied invitation to stay here, in the dark, and discover their secrets.
But that wasn’t the object of my quest, and furthermore, I would never pay their ghastly price to disappear into their embrace.
We were merely refugees, utilizing their hallowed ground as a safe passageway.
I clutched Brady tighter on instinct, forcing my sandals to tread lightly. But no matter how carefully I stepped, the footsteps seemed to reverberate off the ground, giving us away.
My throat burned with the rush of each fast breath. The sticky night air seemed to clog on its way to fill my lungs, and I gasped more than once.
“Mama,” Brady whispered.
“Hush, love, just a bit longer and you’ll win the silent game,” I murmured.
“But I don’t like it here,” he protested.
Me neither, baby. Me neither.
We had to leave. It wasn’t the dark I feared. The men who inhabited these parts were far more dangerous than any figment of the imagination.
There it was. An older sedan, non-descript and without modern anti-theft devices. I crept to the yard where it was parked, hoping no dogs were around to raise the alarm.
I slid the screwdriver from my pocket and rammed it in the lock. It was unnaturally loud in the buzz of the night, but it was far better than smashing the window. Jimmying the tool, I forced the lock to break after a tremendous effort.
Then it was just a matter of sliding into the seat, pushing Brady onto the center console, and reaching under the wheel.
The night was still eerie around us. But no shadows danced. They only shivered when touched by the slight wind’s mischievous tickle.
I couldn’t see a damn thing. Biting my lip, I risked the flashlight. My heartbeat was a war drum. It pounded in my ears.
“It smells in here,” Brady complained.
My stuffy nose and the rush of adrenaline blocked whatever he was inhaling. “I’ll fix that in a minute or two.”
The wires weren’t the same as I remembered. It took a try. And then another.
I slid the plastic a little farther down the length, pressing and praying.
When Penelope helped me escape the underworld, it was just a matter of turning the key and leaving town.
My fingers shook, working the wires. When a telltale spark flickered, a tiny bead in the pool of light, I nearly fainted from relief.
Bless those country cousins!
I stomped on the gas, turning the engine over. I did it! We were leaving. Brady would be safe.
He screamed.
I jumped back, eyes swiveling around for danger.
From the side of the house, a large figure moved with purpose.
I slammed the door closed, wasting a precious second to put the barricade between me and the unknown enemy. Then my hand was on the shifter, and the car rammed backward. Brady clutched the headrest. The tires scrambled into drive as I turned the wheel and flew to the mouth of the alley.
A truck pulled up from the left, braking hard to stop us.
My heart was in my throat. Panic seeped into my veins, and I tried to pull in front of it, going over the poor excuse for a lawn.
The truck inched forward, blocking us in beside a shed.
I rammed the shifter into reverse, barely looking behind me.
But Brady did.
He called out, a wordless cry to stop.
The black shape sprinted into the red glow of the taillights. Big, brutal hands reached out as if to stop the car from moving.
I did not want my son to see me run someone over. Not that the sedan could take the impact. But for our escape, I was willing to try. I bit my tongue in the frenzy as my foot reached for the gas.
One word from Brady had me slamming on the brakes. The child’s recognition rang in the car.
Shit. Holy Mother of God, we were screwed.
A mask of rage glowed in the red light. Familiar features snapped into place.
Ivan. Tatko, my son had said.
Brady was already scrambling to the passenger door. I reached for him, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as a sob choked me.
“Mama, tatko is here,” he insisted. “It’s okay now.”
No…no it’s not.
Because in Bulgarian, as I’d learned from asking the gruff guard who chaperoned our supermarket trips, tatko meant father.
The sire had come for his offspring. And I was the villain who’d been caught red handed trying to steal away that precious, priceless treasure from right under his nose.
Brady managed to launch himself from the car. I put it in park and hopped out in time to hear the son tell the father how scary it had been playing outside in the dark.
Ivan lifted the boy into his arms and clasped a firm hand around the back of Brady’s messy hair. Always messy and wild.
Just like the father, whose hair wasn’t swept into place right now. The wind caught the long, black lengths and pulled them back, as if stroking in a gentle caress.
Ivan looked at me then, the kingpin of the crime world. The fury blazing in those inky black depths was enhanced by the blood red glow from the taillights. If we’d been in a truce before, we were now at a terrible collision. This man was my enemy, and he saw me as the threat I was to him.
Lord have mercy. But it wasn’t the heavens from whom I needed to be saved. It was the monster. He held the power over me from now until the end of my time on earth.