Chapter Thirty-Four
The Final Death
Willow
Her grip on the wheel tightened. She couldn’t loosen it, and her fingers were white with tension.
Fear ran through her veins. It was an icy reminder that Wallard controlled this, just as the prison guards had.
Fury burned with a hot, relentless burn deep inside her.
Her breath came in short, ragged bursts.
Willow hated him. Hated that she was doing exactly what he wanted her to do.
Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again and again, scanning the empty stretch behind her, half-expecting Dale’s truck to appear. Only her reflection stared back. She barely recognized her pale face and wide-eyed dread. Her expression was that of a cornered animal.
She reached toward the console with a shaking hand, wanting so badly to brush her fingers over the cold steel tucked inside.
She wasn’t sure if it was courage to produce the gun, but the thought of him seeing her empty-handed was unbearable.
If he pushed her too far, if he tried to tighten his grip one more turn, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
The high desert turned into tall pine trees, and pressed close on either side of the road.
Her pulse drummed in her ears as the turnoff appeared.
She eased off the accelerator, and her heart hammered so loud she thought it might rattle the windows.
Deputy Wallard waited ahead. The near state of pure panic clouded her vision.
The field of pine trees that lined the road made it worse.
She started hyperventilating for a moment, and had to consciously slow her breathing.
Her only hope was that the deputy would grow tired of his sick game and leave her in peace after he had what he wanted.
She saw the black truck that Wallard had described in a text message, pulled to the side of the road.
With another deep inhale and exhale to calm herself, she pulled off the road behind it.
The part of her that spent so long in prison took over. A cold void of nothingness would protect her from reality again. She turned off the engine and sat for a moment. She didn’t see the back of Wallard’s head in the truck, and he didn’t approach her window.
Emptiness swelled in her chest as she opened the door. Her foot landed on soft pine needles. Long brown grass around the pine trees swayed gently in the wind. She walked forward, and still didn’t see the deputy. She circled the front of his truck and peered around the opposite side.
Willow froze.
Lying face down on the ground with a pool of blood surrounding his head was Deputy Wallard. Willow blinked and tried to make sense of what lay before her. After a minute, she took a step closer, then froze again.
She had to call Dale. He would know what to do. The panic bubbling inside her felt different now. She hadn’t killed Wallard, but she was here with the body after she agreed to meet him.
A soft click sent terror racing through her.
She turned and came face to face with the barrel of a rifle and a familiar face.
“Hello Willow,” he said softly. “I find it strange that you’re here. I believe this is what people call fate.”
“You’re Larry,” she said, trying to keep the tremor from her words.
His smile sent shivers down her spine.
“You will do exactly as I say, or I will shoot you like I did the deputy.”
Willow had so many questions, but no words came from her throat. She only nodded.
“Good. I’m going to load the body in the truck, but first I’m going to secure you in my truck so you’re not in the way. Where’s your cell phone and car keys?”
Willow moved her hand slowly to her front pocket and removed the keys, then to her back pocket and pulled out her cell.
“Good. Toss them toward me one at a time.”
She obeyed instantly.
“Because of you, my plans are changing, and I don’t like change. Remember that. You will sit in the back seat, and I’ll prop the deputy in front with me. There are child locks on the back doors, so don’t bother trying to get out.”
He took a forward step, bent over, picked up her keys and phone.
He smashed the iPhone against Wallard’s bumper, and tossed it about fifteen feet away into the tall grass after rubbing his fingerprints off with his shirt.
He pocketed her keys, then took out his own.
A short chirp sounded from the other side of the road.
Willow hadn’t noticed his vehicle. The paint blended into the forest. Larry walked toward her, and she almost turned and ran. The rifle was no longer pointed in her direction.
“Your ability to survive relies on the choices you make right now,” he said.
Willow’s shoulders dropped. He would lift the rifle and shoot her before she could find cover, and then what? The gun she’d brought was still in the glovebox.
“Cross the road and get in the back seat.”
She did as he said.
“I’m going to collect the deputy, and you’re going to wait here patiently. I’m aware you can jump into the front, but there are no weapons, and I have the keys. Be good, and I won’t hurt you.” He closed the door after she nodded again.
His eyes had stayed cold and glassy the entire time he spoke. Willow had no doubt that he would kill her. She watched him take a plastic tarp from the bed of his truck, cross the road, and walk out of sight. Could she run and escape?
The trees weren’t dense enough to cover her, and she had no idea how far it was to the lake. Would someone drive down the road heading home after a day of fishing? Willow closed her eyes. Larry would kill the person, or, God forbid, a family.
He walked back into view with the deputy over his shoulder, the tarp tight around his head. He managed to get the passenger door open and prop Wallard inside. Larry didn’t look at Willow.
“Blood,” he muttered, and reached into the glovebox for a package of wet wipes.
He used one to wipe the side of his face, and another to wipe his hands.
He grabbed a baseball cap from beneath the seat, and affixed it to the top of Wallard’s head, or what was left of it.
The sight froze Willow, and it finally sank in that the deputy was dead, and she was in the hands of the man who killed him.
Larry came back to the truck, and removed a shovel before crossing to the deputy’s vehicle again, and walking out of sight. She thought about running again, but there was no place to hide.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Larry ordered when he returned.