Chapter Fifty
Joan’s Granddaughter
Dale
He didn’t wait for the sheriff’s department. There wasn’t time. With the dogs loaded in his truck, he gunned the engine and tore down the dirt road toward Larry’s property. Gravel spat out from under the tires, dust trailing in a long plume behind him.
His knuckles were white on the steering wheel; his heart hammered in his throat. When the house came into view, his pulse spiked. The place looked dead, but something in his gut told him she was inside. He killed the engine, grabbed his gun, and jumped out before the truck had fully settled.
Willow would be angry that he brought the dogs, but he’d take her anger. Just be alive, he thought. Be alive so you can yell at me later.
The moment Max’s paws hit the dirt; the Rottweiler went wild. His bark shattered the quiet, and then a sound that cut straight through Dale’s chest. Max threw his head back and let out his long, mournful howl.
Dale didn’t need the confirmation, but it hit him like a jolt all the same. Willow was inside, and Max had known she was close the first time he howled.
He sprinted to the garage door and slammed his shoulder into it. The steel barely rattled. He hit it again, harder, shouting her name. Nothing but the echo of his own fury and Max’s cries answered.
Cursing under his breath, he moved along the wall, searching for another way in. No windows on the lower level, just siding and silence. He circled back to the garage door and raised his gun.
The first shot blew splinters out from the frame. The smell of gunpowder bit the air. He fired again, lower this time, trying to hit the lock mechanism. Two extra magazines weighed heavy in his pocket, and he would use every bullet if needed.
Max’s nose pressed to the crack beneath the door, whining between barks.
Dale’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Hang on, Willow! I’m coming!”
Suddenly, he jumped back. The door was lifting, though the rails were interfering. Dale took cover around the corner and called the dogs, but it did no good. Max went under the door, followed by Daisy. He expected to hear gunfire.
It wasn’t gunfire.
The sweet sound of Willow’s laugh filled his ears.
Sirens sounded in the distance. He reached beneath the door, that was now stuck and making a whirring sound, and pulled it up enough so he could slip beneath it.
Willow sat on the cement between the semi and a camouflage truck; her arms wrapped around the dogs. Tears ran down her face when she looked at him. He couldn’t stop his own from falling, but he wasn’t sure they were safe.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Dale swept her into his old, tired arms like she weighed nothing. Max whined and Daisy barked. The first deputy arrived.
“I need to step out so the deputy doesn’t shoot us,” he said, placing her on her feet.
That’s when he noticed the blood specks on her face.
“Are you injured?”
“No, I’m good.” She smiled through tears. “More than good.”
Dale left the garage, his hands up as he shouted at the deputy. It was someone he knew, and he lowered his arms. The deputy helped him raise the door completely. Dale’s arm went around Willow’s shoulder, and he pulled her close again.
“Call an ambulance,” Dale said. “No one’s talking to her until she’s cleared by medical.”
“I love you,” she whispered in his ear.
They were the sweetest words he’d ever heard.
“I love you,” he said loud enough for the deputies to hear.
◆◆◆
Three months later
Willow
Life slowly returned to normal. She had taken her first trip into town the day before. She had overdue library books. The librarian greeted her warmly, and then surprised her with a hug.
“We missed you,” Paige said.
Willow almost cried. It was something she was doing a lot of lately. Her therapist said she was starting a new chapter in her life, and emotions were part of that.
Dale cried too. She would catch him staring at her with tears trailing down his cheeks. She would hug him, and they would return to whatever they had been doing. Julie, her therapist, was awesome, and she helped Willow deal with the nightmares.
During her trip to town, she’d worried that everyone knew about her past and hated her. The story of her kidnapping and her history had been top news for weeks. Things died down for about a month, but then they discovered Butch’s graveyard, and the media was back in full force.
Law enforcement interviewed Willow three times including the FBI. Dale finally called a stop to it. She wanted to cooperate and help as much as she could, but he said enough was enough. She needed time to heal emotionally. He became a grandfather with Rottweiler teeth.
The horrors found inside Butch’s home far exceeded those found in his boneyard. Willow couldn’t watch the news or read anything about it without nightmares, so the news stayed off.
Roger and Louisa visited two weeks after Willow came home. A week later, Lucia came.
“Piss on that,” she said after Willow voiced a concern that she was a felon.
“My friends are who I say they are. That department has taken enough of my life; I’ll be damned if they control what I do on my own time, and besides,” she smiled.
“You’re rather a hero there these days. At least to some.
We had a serial killer in our backyard and didn’t know it.
The department has mud on their face, but me and the dispatchers have some hero worship going on. ”
They drank iced tea in the shade while Lucia caught them up on the latest involving the case.
“Most of the dead haven’t been identified except by first names. They’ve put out a national call for DNA if family members have gone missing anytime in the past twenty-five years. The current count, including the woman killed at the rest stop, is one-twenty-eight.”
Willow tried to absorb that number, but couldn’t. True crime documentaries would go wild. As long as they left her alone, she didn’t care.
Dale entered her periphery as he placed his cell in his back pocket. He looked at her questioningly.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“That was Liz from the safehouse. She has a woman with a small baby who needs a place to stay—or I should say, hide. I think it’s too much right now, but I told her I would speak with you about it.”
Willow looked up to the sky, feeling her grandmother looking down. Dale was wrong. It wasn’t too much; it was perfect.
Live free Willow, Joan whispered on the wind.