The Last Time She Saw Him (24 page)

“I left it right here after I buried the man. I swear. Someone took it.”

“There is no one here to take it, little girl. How dumb can you actually be?”

Leslie’s eyes turn to slits and she stares back defiantly at Alice.

“All right. Bring her inside. If you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself,” Alice says.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Leslie answers.

“Because of another one of your screw-ups, we’ve got a new plan. Go back to the house and get rid of the suicide note from Kim. Burn it.”

Alice bends down and looks at me with lifeless, grey eyes. “I’m going to kill you, but before I do, you’re going to write a note. You’re going to say you killed your sons and your friend. Kim found out that you killed Will, and when she confronted you, you killed her and then your other son, Logan. You killed the old man, too, because he came to check on Kim after you stopped to see him at his store. You killed them all because you finally snapped after all those years of guilt over not being able to save your brother.”

A bloom of fury, burning bright and hateful, explodes inside my chest. I lock eyes with the monster trying to destroy everything that is most precious to me—my brother’s memory, Will, and now Logan. I hold her gaze defiantly and silently vow I’ll kill her and Leslie before I let either of them hurt my children.

“Screw you, Alice. You’ve already got two dead bodies. Your plan is unraveling and you know it.”

“You want me to kill her?” Leslie asks.

“Not yet, girl. Bring her inside first,” Alice says. “If you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself, so I’ll take care of Julia. Are you ready? It’s time to play
Wheel of Fortune
.”

CHAPTER 18

D
aylight begins to surrender under the horizon as I scramble to make out where we are on Kim’s property, but nothing looks familiar against the quickly darkening sky. A structure lies up ahead. It’s a modest wooden building with a red star on its roof. The psychic predicted the red star, but I know Will is not inside. It’s not the guesthouse where Alice stashed Will but an old maple sugar shack on the edge of the property the previous owners left behind. The sugar shack is the only building on the estate Kim hasn’t remodeled yet. She got rid of most of the maple sugar production equipment and began to transform the space into an art and writing studio.

“Put her in the chair,” Alice orders as she storms inside the shack.

The crude structure still smells like a hint of sweet maple syrup mixed with a more powerful musky aroma of dampness and decay. The shack is a single room, with a small sink in one corner, a few leftover pieces of banged-up furniture scattered about the relatively large space, which is narrow and long like a railroad car, and a door in the rear that probably leads to a bathroom. Leslie drops me onto a seat next to a thin wooden table tucked against one of the four long walls. I quickly do a more thorough scan of the contents of the sugar shack to see if there is anything I can use as a weapon if I am able to get free. My eyes catch a large cast-iron maple sugar pot that sits on the floor in the kitchen area. I feel a primal strum go off inside of me as I spot the ax used to kill Tucker lying on the kitchen counter. My mind ticks off a quick estimation: six steps, all I would need to reach the weapon if I can only get myself untied.

My body, although raw from the dragging, has fully recovered from the assaults with the stun gun. I rub my bound hands against the bars of the wooden chair, and for a moment, I convince myself, hope against hope, the knot gives just a little bit.

“I have to go to the bathroom bad,” Leslie complains and begins to dance in place.

“Do it and get back out here quick.”

Leslie hurries to the bathroom, and I steal a look inside as she opens the door. The bathroom is tiny, but there is a small window above the toilet that I may be able to shimmy my way through.

“The police know I’m here. I called them right before I got to Kim’s house. They know Logan is in danger, so it’s just a matter of seconds before the cops storm this place,” I say.

Alice ignores my idle threat, turns her back to me, and pulls out a pair of cat’s-eye reading glasses from the front pocket of her grey dress. She begins to sift through a stack of letters scattered across a small desk in the corner of the room. In the dim yellow cast from the single bulb hanging from the low ceiling, I can see the letters are addressed to Casey Cahill.

“You slaughtered that good man with your nasty little stories,” Alice says while stuffing a piece of blue stationery into a matching envelope and sealing it with a quick lick.

Outside of the shack, the early-night breeze rattles the still-ajar front door and edges it open a few more inches, and I clutch onto the new glimmer of possibility it offers for all I’m worth. If I can only get loose, I know I could make it outside and outrun Alice and Leslie both. I contemplate an escape plan when a thin silhouette darts past the open door. The shadow comes closer, and in the contours of the quickly falling night, I can make out Logan.

No, baby, keep running toward the road
, I silently beg my son.

The bathroom door opens, and Leslie ventures out with slow, hesitant steps toward Alice.

“Did you wipe?” Alice asks.

Leslie’s face blushes with embarrassment. “Don’t talk to me that way. I’m not a child.”

“It’s a test God has given me to take care of such a pagan child. But I do it with love and compassion and an iron fist when I have to,” Alice says, still engrossed in her fanatical letters to the imprisoned reverend. “The Bible tells us that sinners must be punished. And when your child does wrong, you can’t turn a blind eye.”

I sneak a glance toward the outside and spot Logan crouched behind Leslie’s car. I watch in horror as Logan begins to creep from behind the vehicle with the pocketknife flipped open in his trembling hand, ready to charge. I can’t let Alice see him, and I can’t let him venture any further.

“Alice, your niece left the door open,” I say. “Thanks, Leslie. The police are going to have an easier time finding me now.”

“Shut your selfish piehole,” Alice bellows and throws her reading glasses down on the desk. She slams the door shut and waddles over to the kitchen, where she begins to wash the ax, which still has a tuft of Tucker’s thick white hair matted to the blade.

“It would be a lot easier to shoot her in the head,” Leslie says.

“No. Let’s make this fun, shall we? It’s time to play
Wheel of Fortune
. You get to pick, Julia. Ear or nose? What should we chop off first?” Alice opens her arms wide as though she is engaging a live and adoring studio audience. “Oh, please, stop your applause. I do quite fancy the idea of cutting off her nose to spite her selfish face, but let’s start with her ear first. She never listened to God’s word, so now she needs to hear only silence. Go ahead, Leslie. Do it.”

“Don’t listen to her, Leslie. You’re going to get caught and you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life if the police don’t kill you first.”

Leslie looks between Alice and me and then calmly makes her way across the shack floor in my direction with the ax.

In one last, desperate attempt, I tug against the thick knots tied around my hands and feet. The rope around my wrists gives just enough. I rip one hand free and leave it hidden behind the chair. Leslie is just steps away now, her slender hand pressed tightly around the weapon’s handle. She begins to rear the hatchet behind her head, but I snatch Leslie’s arm with my free hand and yank her arm backward in one fluid movement. Leslie screeches, and the hatchet slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor.

A high-pitched wail sounds like an urgent alarm and fills the room. I look toward the noise and see Alice charging toward me with her shrieking mouth wide open. I snatch the hatchet and swing it sideways toward Leslie. The blade connects and slides deep into her thigh seconds before Alice reaches my side.

“I’m hit!” Leslie cries and grabs at her wounded leg.

Alice barrels into me at full speed like a crazed linebacker until she collides shoulder first against my chest. I crash to the floor, still holding onto the hatchet for dear life. Before I can get to my feet, Alice slams her foot down on my wrist.

“I’m hurt bad. I need a doctor. I could bleed out and die,” Leslie says as a deep stain of red seeps down her bare leg.

“I don’t care if you bleed to death. Get the weapon,” Alice says.

Leslie limps toward me, and she wraps both of her hands around mine in a vise grip.

“I’m done being nice,” she moans and squeezes my hand until I feel the bones crunch and then give way.

My cry reverberates through the small room and out into the night. It is answered by a pounding that begins against the back wall of the shack, steady and hard knocks made by little hands.

“Give me that hatchet,” Alice orders.

My knuckles and fingers are shattered, but I struggle to keep holding on.

“Selfish girl,” Alice says. She stomps down again on my broken fingers and easily pries the weapon from my ballooning hand.

“They’re coming for you, Logan. Get out of here!” I scream.

“Shut up,” Alice says. She hauls her fist back and smacks me in the mouth, splitting my top lip open. She then fixes her sights on Leslie, who is crouched in the corner, clutching her bloody leg.

“Get up. We need to find the boy,” Alice says. “Take the hatchet and kill the child.”

“I need to go to the hospital. I don’t want to die.”

“You aren’t going to the hospital. Now move.”

Leslie does as she’s told and hobbles outside with Alice close behind. The pair disappear into the thick shadows of the country night as they head to the grove of trees by Tucker’s grave to search for Logan.

“Mama?” a small voice calls out from behind the front door.

Logan emerges in the doorway, muddied and clutching the small pocketknife I gave him earlier.

“Get out of here. There’s no time to save me.”

Logan rushes inside the shack and tries to dab away the blood now flowing freely from my lip.

“What did they do to you? I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Run to the road like I told you. Don’t come back for me until you find help. Will is in the guesthouse. Tell the police where he is.”

“I’m going to cut you free, and we’ll get Will together,” Logan says and begins to saw at the rope around my feet. “Almost there, Mom.”

“Stop! I hear something outside. Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Don’t open it, no matter what. There’s a window above the toilet. Lift yourself up and go through.”

The front door of the sugar shack bangs opens, and Logan bolts toward the bathroom, fastening the lock in place just as Alice’s fat hands seal around the doorknob.

Leslie stands motionless in the doorway and watches as Alice lifts a single finger to her lips as a warning to me. Alice then clasps her hands around my throat and presses her thumbs against my windpipe.

“Logan, you poor baby. I’m so sorry,” Alice says. “Leslie did this. She took the baby and then tied up your mother. I had to commit Leslie before, but I thought she was all right now. I’ve already called the police, and they’re on their way. Come on out. Your mother is waiting for you.”

“I need to ask my mom something first,” Logan answers.

“Yes, go ahead, son. Your mom is here, just like I promised,” Alice says and digs her fingers deeper into my neck.

“What Alice said . . . if that’s true, tell me what Mr. Moto’s secret weapon is,” Logan asks.

Logan knows from our bedtime story, Mr. Moto’s secret weapon is his invisible shield he uses to protect the village from fire-breathing dragons.

“Tell him,” Alice grunts as she relaxes her grasp slightly.

“Sure, baby. You know Mr. Moto’s secret weapon is his ability to turn his enemies into stone by giving them one withering glance.”

“That’s right,” Alice answers. “Now come on out. I would never hurt anyone.”

Alice looks expectantly at the bathroom door, but it doesn’t open as Logan easily catches on to my lie.

“That’s it,” Alice says. “Where’s the key?”

“Kim told me all the keys to the property are in the guesthouse,” Leslie says.

“God is testing my resolve. Drive me there, Leslie. We’ll get the key and my gun and I’ll slaughter them both. I’m going to make you watch as I kill your boy,” Alice warns me.

Alice charges over to the desk and pulls out a padlock. I hear it snap in place as Alice padlocks the front door shut as she and Leslie leave.

“Don’t come out, Logan,” I warn. “This could be a trap.”

I listen for movement as Leslie’s car engine roars to life and then muffles to a distant rumble as they drive away. Feeling safe, Logan unlocks the bathroom door and cautiously peers out from behind it.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I say.

Logan hurries over to my side and throws his arms around me. His breath is rapid and warm against the side of my face.

“It’s okay, buddy. We can do this. That window in the bathroom, climb through it and get out of here before they get back.”

“They’re going to kill you. I’m not leaving you behind.”

“No matter what happens, just remember I love you always. Understand. Forever and ever, no matter what.”

“Please, Mommy,” Logan begs.

“It’s time for you to go now, baby.”

Logan thumps his fist against his heart.

“I’m coming back for you. I won’t ever let you go.”

“I love you, beautiful boy.”

The shack is now shrouded in darkness except for a sliver of moonlight coming through the bathroom window. As Logan turns to make his escape, I take in his jet-black hair and tan, lean legs one last time. For a split second, he looks exactly like Ben.

But then my son is gone as the bathroom door shuts. The old window squeaks as it opens, and I hear Logan’s clothes scrape against the window frame as he slides through and out into the sticky night air.

“Run, baby, run,” I whisper.

A car engine cuts through the sudden quiet in the sugar shack. The padlock rips open and Alice lumbers inside. She slides the key in the bathroom lock and the door swings open. The crimson curtain that hangs above the open bathroom window dances gently against the breeze.

“He’s gone. Enough. Take the gun and shoot him when you find him,” Alice tells Leslie. “Now go. I’ll take care of her.”

Leslie hustles out of the shack with the gun, ready to hunt down Logan. I have to rely on the fact he is fast, and Leslie’s leg wound should slow her down.

Alice moves to the kitchen and attaches a hose to the sink. She begins to fill up the giant cast-iron pot with water. Once it is full, she drags it across the room and places it on the floor in front of my chair.

“
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
,” Alice sings in a lilting soprano. Her hands lock around the back of my head.

“Wait, stop,” I cry.

Alice shoves me forward and plunges my head into the icy-cold water.

Alice yanks me out of the water, and I fight to inhale a single breath.

“
Praise Him, all creatures, here below
,” she sings.

My face slams under the surface of the water for the second time. I thrash my head back and forth to try and knock the cast-iron pot over, but it is too heavy.

(“I want to beat the world’s record for holding my breath the longest. A guy from Germany held his breath for fifteen minutes and two seconds. I think if I just keep practicing, I can beat him
.”)