Chapter Twenty-nine
When Abby woke it was dark, save for the electric fireplace burning beneath the television set.
The heat was thick, and she was sweating, and Whit was lying on top of her.
They were still on the couch where they’d promptly cuddled after lovemaking.
She smiled as she recalled that rather enjoyable lovemaking and she reached down to stroke Whit’s temple, relaxing in the sounds of her sleep.
“I love you,” she whispered, glad she was finally able to say it.
Whit didn’t hear it, but maybe that was for the best. They’d agreed to this one night together and nothing more.
At least not for the time being. While the thought saddened her, she was hell-bent on making it the best evening ever.
She wanted to show Whit just how much she cared for her and she was going to thoroughly enjoy doing so.
But just as she was about to wake her, to indeed show her, there was a knock at the door.
She stiffened, alarmed. A quick glance at the clock showed her it was nearing eight o’clock.
Who could it be? The police again? Maybe they’d come to her place to talk to Whit.
Or maybe they had more news concerning the investigation.
“Whit, wake up.” She gently shook her and Whit came to as another knock sounded.
“Someone’s at the door and I bet it’s the police.
” Whit crawled from her, and they both rose, dressed, and made their way to the door.
Abby, feeling safe with Whit by her side, and still feeling rather groggy, pulled the door open without peering out the window.
A figure stood in the dark wearing a rain slicker, his face obstructed.
And before Abby or Whit could react, he brandished a curved blade and spoke.
“Inside, now.”
Whit tried to slam the door, but the man managed to wedge his boot in the doorway.
Then he shoved his way in and slammed the door closed behind him.
Abby searched for something to grab, anything that she could use against him.
But there was nothing. He took a step toward them and she gripped Whit’s hand.
“What do you want with us, huh?” Abby demanded. “We’ve done nothing to you.”
“He’s sick,” Whit said, her gaze intently focused on the knife. “He gets off on this kind of thing. Don’t you, Boyd? You fooled the cops and now you’ve come to finish the job, haven’t you?”
The man laughed and then slowly pulled down his hood. Abby gasped as the man before her was not Boyd, but someone else altogether. Someone she didn’t recognize at all.
“Who the hell are you?” she blurted.
“Not Boyd,” the man said. He rubbed his balding head.
“What do you want with us, then?”
His steely gaze slid over to Whit who was standing in apparent shock and silence.
“You know, don’t you, little Whitley?”
Abby blinked, confused.
“Whit, do you know him?”
Whit swallowed. “I do.”
“Who is he?”
“An old acquaintance,” he said, showing off a sinister, almost bucktoothed grin.
“They should’ve never let you out,” Whit seethed.
“Thanks to you, they almost didn’t. And that’s why I’m here. To show you my appreciation for your efforts to keep me locked up. And for your testimony against me all those years ago which got me locked up in the first place.”
“Whit, what’s he talking about?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Allow me to introduce myself. Since Whitley obviously isn’t going to. I’m Stanley. Stanley—”
“His name is Otter,” Whit growled. “And he’s the one who murdered my father.”
Otter took a bow and grinned. Abby felt bile rise from her stomach as Whit squeezed her hand and spoke.
“You were the one following us the day of the accident,” Whit said.
“I was.”
“And you drove off and left us to the wild.”
“I did.”
“But then you decided to follow us on foot.”
“I did indeed. I thought about killing you there, in the woods, and leaving you to rot and never to be found, like I did that poor hiker, but then I just had so much fun playing with you both that I changed my mind. I didn’t expect the ranger to show up when he did.
That ruined all my plans for the two of you.
So I’ve had to…improvise.” Again, he grinned, brandishing his awful, yellowing teeth.
Whit cried out and lunged at him and Otter quickly dodged her and shoved her into the wall.
Then he charged Abby and before she could turn to escape, he hit her hard and an awful searing pain shot up from her side.
The next thing she knew she was on the ground and Whit was screaming, crying out, “No, no, no!” She scrambled to her side while Otter stood there laughing.
“Oops, it’s happened again. I’ve accidentally stabbed someone.”
He held up the blood-caked knife and Abby grew dizzy. She pulled her hand away from her torso and saw more of the dark blood. “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, no.”
Whit pressed her hand into the wound. “You’re okay,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Otter tsked. “I don’t think it’s okay, Whitley. I think she’s in a lot of trouble. Just like dear old dad. You better do something. Quick.”
“You son of a bitch,” she said, spittle flying from her mouth. “I’ll kill you.”
He laughed. “Now that I’d like to see.”
She left Abby to lunge at him again. Otter swung to his left and grazed her with his knife as she soared past him.
She braced herself against the wall, trying to catch her breath.
Her outer thigh stung, and she knew for certain that she’d been cut.
But there was no time to think about that.
She had to help Abby. She couldn’t lose her. Not her too.
She pushed away from the wall and grunted as she went at him again, this time grabbing his wrist to control the weapon.
He gritted his teeth and struggled against her, both of them fighting for power.
Though she was strong, she was no match for his six foot plus frame and sinewy build.
He’d no doubt worked out while incarcerated too, and struggling with him using all her might was getting her nowhere.
So when she had the chance, she relaxed her stance and he closed the gap between them, thinking he had the upper hand.
But she quickly kneed him in the groin and then held his head as he bent over in pain and slammed that too into her knee.
He collapsed onto his side, groaning in pain.
Blood surged from his nose. Whit moved as quickly as she could, going to Abby who was still conscious but paling by the second.
“Hang on,” she said, hoisting her up from under her arms. “We’re getting out of here.
” She dragged her toward the door as Otter continued to writhe on the floor.
Whit opened the door with one hand and slid Abby outside onto the front stoop.
Otter managed to stand. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His other gripped the knife.
“You bitch,” he said, showing off his now blood-stained teeth. “You’ll pay for that.”
Whit hurriedly pulled Abby down the stairs and onto the dirt path.
But Otter pursued them, rushing out of the house with the look of death in his crazed eyes.
Whit released Abby and stood before her, putting herself between her and Otter.
She was not going to let him near her. He was not going to hurt her again.
“Sorry about your girlfriend.” He grinned. “It’s a shame, isn’t it? That you’re going to lose her too?”
“What are you waiting for, Otter? Afraid I’ll punish you some more?”
His grin vanished and he thrust his knife at her, threatening.
Whit focused solely on the blade. Otter she could handle.
For the most part. But the knife was a different story.
From behind, she heard an approaching vehicle.
And though Otter looked behind her, searching for the source, she kept her eyes on the blade.
“Someone’s coming,” she said. “Might as well give it up, Otter. It’s over.”
“It’s not over until you’re dead.”
“Then come on. Do it. You don’t have much time now.
” Her blood was thrumming and her senses were on overload as adrenaline surged through her.
She was waiting for just the slightest movement from Otter, praying she’d be able to react in time.
The oncoming vehicle slammed on its brakes behind her, gravel crunching.
A door opened and a man called out, “Police! Drop your weapon!”
Whit nearly relaxed with relief, but Otter still held firm to the knife. It seemed he wasn’t going to give up or give in.
“Time to die, little Whitley.” He lunged at her and tried to plunge the knife into her midsection.
But she shifted sideways, just as he’d done to her, and grabbed him from behind, spinning him away from Abby who remained on the ground.
Whit then punched him hard in the jaw, sending him spinning back the other way, the knife still in his grip.
She hit him again, on his opposite jaw, and he rotated again, this time falling into a heap in the dirt.
He groaned and stirred as she stepped over him, ready to pry the knife from his bony hand.
But as he rolled over, she saw that the knife was embedded in his gut, his hand slowly sliding it out.
He grunted as he got the blade free, but black-looking blood surged from the wound and he touched it, fingers trembling.
“I’m hurt,” he said, almost child-like. He looked to Whit. “I’ve been hurt. I need help.”
Whit stared at him a moment, thinking that nothing she could say would ever make a difference. Nothing at all. Her father was dead and gone and Abby, she was badly injured. She went to her and pressed into her bleeding wound.
“Did he—get you?” Abby asked.
“No.”
The police officer ran up to them, shoulder mic held to his mouth. He was calling for help. Whit tuned him out. Her only concern was for Abby, whose eyes were drifting closed.
“No,” Whit said, gently shaking her. “You can’t fall asleep, you hear? You have to stay awake. Stay with me.”
“I need help,” Otter cried.
The policeman knelt next to him and plucked the knife from his grip. He set it out of reach and then came to her and Abby.
“She needs help, now. Call a care flight.”
He nodded and stepped back to speak into his mic once again.
Whit held her close, trying to keep her awake, but she was fading fast. The last thing she said, before falling unconscious were three little words.
“I love you.”