RAGE (20 page)

The following is an excerpt from
Annie’s Revenge
, available at online retailers now.

I ran. I heard laughing and yelling in the distance behind me. “Annie! Annie!” Repeatedly, they kept calling for me, taunting me. I ran faster in the complete darkness. I had no idea where I was or where I was going, but I knew for sure that I had to get away from them. My heart pounded against my chest. My breathing came and went in raspy puffs, my lungs afire and my ribs aching fiercely. I had to keep going. Stopping was not an option.

My mouth filled with blood, its metallic taste nauseating me. Missing teeth, a busted lip, and a bitten tongue were all sources of the bitter blood. I also felt blood running down my thighs. My left eye was swollen shut and throbbing
,
and
the other was attaining a haze. My unseeing eyes mattered little, as the darkness around me was so absolute, I couldn’t have seen under normal circumstances. The sky stood moonless, but moonlight wouldn’t have reached the thick forest floor to illuminate my way had it been in its fullest phase.

My head ached and I felt blood pouring out of the gash above my right ear. I was dizzy, but I couldn’t let myself lose consciousness. I couldn’t let them get me again.

I kept telling myself that people had lived through far worse than this, so I would too, but every step jarred my entire body and reminded me of how bad this experience really was.

I knew my jaw was broken. There was a large lump in the middle of my forearm, which I presumed was another broken bone. My ankle was sprained. My ribs were aching. My swollen face was covered with scrapes and scratches, not all of which I received from the limbs and branches that I ran into blindly.

I was aware of the aches, but I was so worried about getting away that my mind numbed the pain, or at least pushed it down into my subconscious so I could go on. It was a good thing it did. I knew that if my mind let the pain in, I’d probably stop right where I was, sit down and cry, and they would get me again.

I couldn’t let that happen. I
wouldn’t
let it happen.

I was nearly naked now, as my blouse was ripped to shreds, and they had taken my pants and panties. I was even missing a shoe. My hair was in knots, some of it having been torn out in handfuls. My scalp was burning. I smelled a sweet, unfamiliar smell coming from my lower body. My stomach turned. My whole body ached.

I was filthy and smelled horrible, and I couldn’t help but cry as I stumbled on into the darkness. The salty tears ran down into some of the cuts on my face and made them sting worse than they already did. Still, I barely noticed. That pain was nothing compared to the constant burning and stinging that emanated from between my legs. It felt like those monsters were still ripping apart my tender flesh.

Of all the times in my life that I wished I wasn’t fat and was in better shape, this one counted the most. I needed to be able to run quickly, but the extra weight I carried held me back, slowing me down. I hated myself so much for being fat at that moment that I almost stopped running. I wanted to let them come find me and start all over again with their torture and torment. It would almost be better anyway. Wouldn’t I rather die now than live the rest of my life knowing what they had done to me, and with knowing that it was all because I was fat? If they found me, the torment would continue, but I also knew that I would not escape twice. They would kill me, and death wasn’t looking like such a bad thing at this point. At least the pain and misery would end.

While I was thinking of dying to end my suffering, my steps slowed to no more than a jog. For another minute, I thought of whether to pick up my pace or stop altogether. I thought about what my father would do and say once he found out what happened. I couldn’t keep this a secret. I shuddered to think of how I must look. My father would blame me, and he’d look at me for the rest of my life with disdain and disgust. He’d looked at me with little more than that my whole life. I’d always felt that he was ashamed of me and this would surely only add to that. My mother was what made me run. No matter what my father said or did, my mother would be crushed if she lost me. My mother never acted ashamed of me. She was never afraid to let me know that she loved me, and I’d always appreciated that. My father never showed any love or affection for me, but my mother had made up for it as best as she could. I couldn’t let her down. So I ran harder than before.

My legs were weak, and getting weaker by the second. I needed to stop and catch my breath, but I couldn’t risk it. I had to get help. If they caught me, it would be over.

I don’t know how long I ran, but it felt like days. My feet were sore and blistering, especially the one missing a shoe. I couldn’t hear them cheering and calling out my name anymore, but faintly, somewhere up ahead in the distance, I could hear a vehicle pass occasionally. I knew I was near a highway and if I wanted to live, I had to get to it.

Every time I thought I should be at the highway, I’d hear a vehicle and realize I’d been running in the wrong direction. I’d turn and run in the direction where I’d heard the last vehicle, only to hear the next one off to the right or left. I was going in circles and I knew it. I fought to keep from panicking.

I was sure I was running in the right direction until I came to the top of a small hill. What I saw at the bottom of the hill stopped me. My knees quivered and nearly buckled beneath me. My heart stopped pounding. In fact, it seemed to stop beating altogether. The forest grew silent, though only in my mind. There were no sounds, not even my labored breathing. Then, I realized I wasn’t breathing. I blinked quickly, trying to clear my vision in the eye with which I could still see. I wanted to make sure that what I thought I was seeing was what I was really seeing, and it was. It was the three of them.

They’d heard me run up the other side of the hill. They looked at me and time seemed to stop. The three of them in unison stood and stared at me. Suddenly, my heart and the world started again, only both were going too fast. I screamed.

Panic took hold of my body. I ran harder than before; faster than I had ever ran in my life. I was scared. I expected my heart to pound the flesh open on my chest and beat its way out. It was hard to take a breath and it hurt like hell when I let it out, but I was running to save my life. I could recover later, but I had to move now.

I heard them coming up the hill after me! I tripped and fell several times, but I was up as soon as I hit the ground.

“Annie! Annie!” They called repeatedly. They were still taunting me, still laughing at me, and still cursing me. If they caught me, they’d kill me for sure. There were many times in my life that I’d wished I were dead and there would surely be many more, but right now, I was certain that I did not want to die. Especially not this way. It would mean that they won, and worse than that, no one would miss me other than my mother.

The next thing I knew, bright lights shone directly into my eyes. I heard tires squealing on the asphalt. I was relieved. They couldn’t get me now.

I stopped running.

A man jumped out of his truck and ran around to the front where I stood paralyzed by shock.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding nearly as scared as I was.

I felt him take my elbow in his hand. I tried to tell him what had happened to me in the woods, and that I needed to get to the hospital. I needed to tell him that I had to get away from them – and that they were coming – but I couldn’t find my voice.

Then, everything went black.

The following is an excerpt from
The Good Neighbor
, available at online retailers now.

I didn’t believe Jenson was a serial killer, hacking up the bodies and hauling them out of his house in black trash bags. Though his behavior was odd, and there were a lot of bags coming out of his house, and other residents of Hewitt Street thought he was, I didn’t believe it.

As I watched the old man struggle with his bags, I wondered why he just didn’t put them in a can at the curb like the rest of the world. What was in his garbage that required him to dispose of it wherever it was that he disposed of it? I had no idea where that was. I never followed him to see where he went once he loaded the heavy bags in his car.

The real puzzle was why he had two different garbage bags that he disposed of in two different ways. He had white trash bags, which he carried to the curb once a week and placed in a curbside trashcan.

Then, there were the black bags.

I sat on my front porch watching him, thinking maybe I should cross the street and help him. After all, he was in his sixties or seventies, and I was still a youthful thirty-five. It was the polite thing to do, and certainly the neighborly thing to do.

“What’s he doing?” someone asked. I turned to see Andy, the neighbor to my left, standing on his porch in his robe.

“Him? What are you doing? It’s almost noon.”

He tilted his red head down to look at his robe, as if seeing it for the first time. “You don’t think I rock this ensemble?” As he spoke, he put one foot on the porch railing, placing his elbow on his bent knee.

“Well, I do now that I see your shoes.”

“Like ‘em? Jill got ‘em for me.”

“Nice. They complement your...uh, carrots.”

“Don’t hate the bunny shoes. You’re jealous, I can tell.”

I laughed, turning my attention back to the trash bag-toting senior.

Andy, seeing where my attention went, asked, “What do you suppose is in that bag?” he asked, starting a conversation we’d had many times before.

“I don’t know, but it definitely looks heavy.”

“Aren’t they always heavy?”

Changing the subject, I asked, “Why are you still in your robe?” I didn’t take my eyes off the old man.

“I’m not still in my robe. I just got in my robe.”

“Ah, must be on the night shift this week,” I deduced.

“Yeah. I’ll be heading to bed soon. Just wanted to come out and see what was happening out here. I heard the moving truck.”

I turned my attention to the truck a few driveways down the street, where two men were carrying furniture into the house. Two children, a boy and a girl, were running around the yard. Occasionally, a young woman – presumably their mother – would step onto the porch and say something to them.

Andy said. “Think she’s the mom? Or maybe the older sister? She’s hot.” His smile broadened.

“Yeah, she’s alright. But is she hotter than, say, Jill?”

He lost his smile. “Of course not. My wife is the hottest woman on the planet,” he said in a robotic voice, then smiled.

“You’re crazy,” I said, laughing at him.

“I see Jenson finally got that bag in the trunk,” Andy said.

When I looked across the street, I saw the old man close the lid of the trunk. I could tell from the stiffness in his gait that he was in pain and having some difficulty getting around. It was probably from dragging around all those heavy bags. And age, of course. I watched as he got in his car, backed out slowly, and then drove away.

“Wonder where he goes,” Andy said, reading my mind. “One of these days, we should follow him. See what he does with those bags.” He saw the look I was giving him and added, “I’m just curious.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is nosy.”

“So you’ve never thought about it? You don’t wanna know what he’s got goin’ on over there?”

“Yeah, but I’d never follow him. Some states call that stalking. They even have laws against it.”

He laughed. “It isn’t stalking if you do it once, and just see where he goes. No big deal.”

I didn’t respond. In my mind, it was still stalking. It was still something that would make me feel guilty, as though I was doing something wrong. Even if it was just once.

“Well, think about it. Maybe one of these days, we’ll go sleuthing, see what’s up. But now, me and the bunnies here are going to turn in for the afternoon.”

“Yeah, go get some sleep. You’re losing your charm.”

“That’s impossible. And, Owen, try to keep it down out here. I’m tired of telling you. You’re the loudest neighbor on Hewitt Street.” He laughed, knowing that was the farthest thing from the truth, and then went inside.

Andy was my best friend, and I was lucky he lived next door. He and his wife Jill had taken great care of me when my life fell apart last year. I still hadn’t picked up all the pieces yet, but I was a lot closer than what I would’ve been if it hadn’t been for them. They’re the only ones who knew how bad things had been for me.

I reluctantly went inside the house. I couldn’t sit on the porch all day, even though I spent as much time on the porch as I could to avoid spending time alone in the house. There were too many memories, all of them best forgotten, that consumed me when I was inside the house. It just hurt too much to be in there.

However, there were things to do.

Once I’d finished my chores and ran my errands, I stopped off and grabbed some dinner. I wasn’t much of a cook, so I ate a lot of take out. A couple times a week, Jill made more than enough food just so she would have an excuse to feed me. This wasn’t one of those nights.

I sat on the porch, my feet propped up on what was supposed to be a table. It suited me better as a footstool. I held my burger in one hand and scooped fries from a bag on my lap with the other.

It was funny how I didn’t mind the silence of being alone when I was outside. Inside, I wanted to scream. Outside, I was fine. I knew the reason. I hated the reason. I struggled every second of every day to not think about the reason.

Inside reminded me of her. Inside is where she lived and loved me. I had no memories of her out here on the porch. But as soon as I walked through the door, I was engulfed with her smell, the sound of her laughter – though it was only in my mind, and everything she’d touched. Her things were still in the house where she’d left them. Things she’d bought or gifts she’d received. Everything was as it had been. Everywhere I looked, there was a reminder. A reminder of what had been, what I’d had, and what I’d lost.

At first, those reminders saved me. They comforted me. They were all I had to hold onto. Now, they taunted me. It was all I could do to let go. Holding on to the memories wasn’t saving me anymore. It was killing me.

It wasn’t a lie or an exaggeration to say Andy and Jill had taken great care of me. They were there from the beginning. They stood by my side as I fell apart. Andy stayed with me the first few days and nights. Jill kept me eating, even though it was an absolute job to do so, for both of us. They made me keep up my hygiene, even though there was no reason to. They made me get out of bed and quit wallowing in my pity. If they hadn’t, I’d have laid there, in the fetal position, and died.

But the one thing they couldn’t do was make me quit missing her. She was everything to me. She always had been. She was the only woman I’d ever loved and that had ever loved me. And then she was gone, vanished from my life. The only evidence that she’d ever even existed was the very things in my house that I could no longer stand to look at.

Thinking of her now brought images to my mind. I could see her dark hair, her brown eyes, and her warm smile as if she were standing in front of me now. I could almost hear her voice. As was always the case when I dared to let myself think of her, I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done to make her want to leave.

I had to force down the mouthful of cheeseburger I’d been chewing. It just couldn’t seem to find its way around the lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat. I knew there’d be no way I could finish the meal now. Not with thoughts of Holly on my mind. I’d lost my appetite.

I looked around for the dog that roamed the neighborhood, planning to give him the remnants, but I didn’t see him. I sat the food on the table, also known as my footstool. I leaned forward in the chair, putting my elbows on my knees, unsure what to do now. I had a restless feeling. It was the same restlessness that always came when I thought of Holly. And with Andy working night shift, I had no one to take my mind off her.

I hated when Andy worked nights. It meant I had to sit on the porch alone, until it was late enough to go to bed without feeling guilty that I’d turned in too early. There had been many nights where I’d given up and gone to bed before the sun had set. I felt as though I’d wasted valuable, nonrefundable time out of my life by doing so, but I was just unable to continue dragging myself through the day. The loneliness, the emptiness, the hollowness that had become my life was sometimes just too much to bear. There were days when I didn’t want to get out of bed at all, but I forced myself. I knew that the amount of time that had passed since Holly had disappeared from my life was appropriate for me to move on. But somehow, I still couldn’t manage to do so. Though things had gotten a lot better for me, my wounds were still not completely healed. There wasn’t an open wound now, but there wasn’t a scar either. It was more of a scab. I was close to being healed, but not quite there yet.

I sighed deeply and closed my eyes, listening to the crickets chirp. The sound of a door closing snapped them open.

“You still out here?” Andy asked as he came out of his house.

“I’m not still out here. I’m out here again,” I said, referring to what he’d said this morning about his bathrobe.

“You need a hobby, my friend.”

“I see you’ve decided to shed the robe for a night on the grind. I’m sure your co-workers will appreciate that. Do they know how awesome you dress while at home?” I teased.

“They’ve heard stories.” Andy indicated the house across the street from me when he said, “Quiet at Jenson’s place tonight, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“Thought you were against all forms of stalking,” he said, furrowing his brow with feigned suspicion and folding his arms across his chest.

“Is it stalking when I never have to leave my front porch?”

Andy laughed. “Guess not.”

Suddenly, the peaceful sound of a quiet night was shattered. Andy’s head jerked abruptly and I shot out of my chair as if my ass were on fire.

“Was that a scream?” he asked in a loud whisper.

I could only nod. We ran off our porches simultaneously, in search of the sound. Both of us stood on our lawns, heads tilted, scanning the street, listening for another sound. Finally it came.

Andy breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Damn,” he said. “That scared the hell out of me.”

“Me too,” I said. My nerves were tingling. The sudden rush of adrenaline had brought everything to life in me that had been dormant for so long. My heart raced. I enjoyed the feeling. It reminded me that I was alive. Something I’d seemed to have forgotten. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Who lets their kids run around the yard at night screaming like that? Especially when you just moved into the neighborhood?” he asked, watching the kids down the street run circles in the yard of their new home.

“I don’t know. Probably someone hot,” I said, teasing him.

“I only said that for your benefit,” he said smiling. When I didn’t return his smile, he looked at the ground, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Owen. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“It’s okay,” I lied. It wasn’t okay. I may be ready to try to let go of her memory, but I certainly wasn’t ready to move on that way. I didn’t even know how to move on that way.

“Still. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Andy?”

“Yes?”

“Aren’t there some people somewhere waiting for you to grace them with your presence?” I smiled, letting him know to forget about it.

“Yeah. Can’t keep my fans waiting,” he said in a lighter tone, walking to his car. “I’d tell you to be on the porch when I get home and we’ll keep an eye on Jenson, but I’m sure you’ll be there already, not stalking him.” He laughed and got in his car before I could respond.

He drove away, leaving me standing on the lawn listening to the sounds of chirping crickets and screaming kids.