Vicious (34 page)

“What the fuck happened here?” she heard Allen mutter.

She knew he’d just spotted the deputy’s body. Susan swiveled around to face him.

Dumbfounded, Allen gazed down at Shaffer’s corpse. He still had Moira by the hair and the ax blade against her throat.

Susan shook her head at him. “You don’t have to do this now, Allen, not anymore. He’s dead. He has no power over you. You no longer have to do what he says. You can just turn around and drive away….”

Moira started to struggle, but it was in vain. His grip on her didn’t slacken.

“I can’t have any witnesses,” he muttered. “And there’s a matter of payback for what those two pricks did to me this afternoon. One of them is still alive.”

“No—no, they’re both dead.” Susan pointed to the two bodies by the front door. She started backing up toward the cabin. “They’re both dead. No one holds anything over you now. You can just drive away, Allen. Please, let her be….”

At the news that her friends were dead, Moira let out an anguished cry. “Oh, God, no…” She tried to wrench free from Allen. The ax blade nicked the side of her neck, but she didn’t seem to notice. She sobbed hysterically.

Allen took in the scene by the front door. Then he smiled a little and turned to Susan. “I can’t have
any
witnesses,” he said loudly—over Moira’s weeping. “None at all…”

Susan kept shaking her head over and over. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the boys by the front stoop again.

The one with the gun in his hand was moving.

Cradling his friend in his arms, he leaned against the front door and watched Meeker’s fiancée. Her back to him, Susan Blanchette kept stepping into his line of vision, blocking his view of Meeker and Moira. But he could hear Meeker’s voice, so close.

Jordan had the deputy’s gun in his hand.

He glanced at his leg—and at all the blood around the tear in his jeans, where the bone stuck out below his knee.

It had happened after the deputy shot at him—twice. One bullet had grazed his shoulder; the second had hit him in the gut. He fell down the stairs and broke through the banister. Jordan remained on the living room floor, keeping perfectly still—despite the horrible pain. He didn’t even move when Meeker kicked him in his side. The bastard probably fractured a couple of his ribs. He knew he’d wrecked the hell out of his leg during that fall, too. Jordan had no idea just how bad it was. He couldn’t look at it, not while they were standing right next to him.

He didn’t move a muscle. Fortunately, they didn’t stay there long. The deputy heard someone outside. “I have a feeling that’s your intended, Allen,” Shaffer said.

Jordan had waited until after they left and he had heard the cop car peeling out of the driveway. Then he crawled into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel, and clutched it to his stomach. With a
Kiss the Cook
apron, he made a tourniquet for his leg. He stared at that bone jutting out and cringed. He tried to tell himself he’d seen worse in one of his lacrosse games, but he really couldn’t remember anything quite this gory.

He hobbled out the back door, around the cabin, and past the driveway, bracing himself against the side of the house or trees, anything he could grab to keep from keeling over. If he could reach the road, he might flag down a passing car—on the off-off chance someone drove by. He staggered through the woods on the other side of the driveway.

Jordan had just reached Carroll Creek Road when he spotted the deputy’s patrol car approaching. He ducked back into the bushes and watched the prowler pull into his driveway. It disappeared behind the trees.

Jordan thought he might pass out from the pain and exhaustion, but he hobbled through the woodlands—all the way back toward the cabin again. He heard a car door slam, then Shaffer’s voice in the distance. But he couldn’t make out what the deputy was saying. He heard the cabin door open and shut—and then nothing for at least two or three minutes. Jordan kept hobbling through the shadowy woods until he started to see the cabin through the trees again.

Then he heard Leo softly calling out to him.

Jordan was so stunned and elated, he forgot about his leg for a second. He moved toward the sound of his friend’s voice and immediately felt a horrible pain shooting up from his knee. Falling down on the forest floor, he let out a groan. He was about to call back to Leo when he heard a gunshot from within the cabin.

Jordan dragged himself through the woods toward the driveway. Helplessly he watched Leo, by the patrol car, trying to fend off the deputy. Panic-stricken, Jordan struggled to his feet. Twigs snapped beneath him. He saw the cop standing over Leo with the gun.

For a split second, the deputy glanced his way. Their eyes met.

That was when Leo hit the cop in the head with the pronged device. The gun went off with a startling bang. The blond deputy teetered there for a moment, looking baffled. Then he collapsed onto the gravel driveway.

Hopping on one foot, Jordan made his way to his friend. At first, he thought Leo was dead. But then he saw his buddy was breathing. It looked like Leo had been shot in the abdomen, almost the same place where the deputy had put a bullet in him—only with Leo’s wound there was a lot more blood. A crimson stain bloomed on his shirt, and it alarmed Jordan to feel how cold Leo was.

Taking the dish towel away from his own stomach wound, Jordan pressed a part not soaked with blood against the bullet hole in Leo’s shirt. His bloodstained hands were shaking, and he started to cry. He kissed Leo on the forehead. “Hang in there, buddy, okay?” he murmured.

Dragging himself over to the deputy, he took the dead cop’s gun and his car keys. He stashed the gun in the back of his jeans, under his shirttail. Then he managed to crawl back to the patrol car and tried to radio for an ambulance. “Two people have been shot at number one Cedar Crest Way in Cullen,” Jordan gasped into the mike. “It’s right off Carroll Creek. Another person’s dead. But two of us are badly wounded. We need an ambulance right away.” His voice started to crack. “Please, hurry, for God’s sake, my friend’s looking really bad….”

All he got for an answer was a distant voice through the static. Jordan couldn’t make out what they were saying. He knew Cullen pretty well, and the nearest hospital was in Mount Vernon, about twenty-five minutes away. He wondered if he might be able to drive that far.
No, not a chance
. He couldn’t operate the pedals with his broken leg. The bullet in his gut wasn’t helping either.

Frustrated, Jordan wiped the tears from his eyes and tried the police radio one more time. He glanced down at his pal. Leo’s breathing seemed to be getting shallow. All Jordan could think to do was get him inside the house, give him some water, and try to stop the bleeding.

He left the door open as he climbed out of the cop car. Grabbing Leo underneath the arms, he began dragging him across the lawn toward the front door. He couldn’t get to his feet or bend his bum leg. So he crawled most of the way, with Leo’s limp body on top of his. Jordan felt the gun barrel digging into his tailbone. Cold sweat poured off him. He was so depleted, but he pressed on toward the cabin. He listened to his friend’s breathing. It was like a death rattle.

On the front stoop, Jordan felt himself starting to black out.

He’d paused there and caught his breath. Just then, he heard another car approaching. He knew it wasn’t a cop or an ambulance because there would have been a siren. Instead, he heard gravel under tires, a rattling noise, and then quiet. Two car doors opened and shut.

He saw Allen Meeker’s fiancée approaching the dead cop. Then he heard Meeker’s voice:
“What the fuck happened here?”

That was when Jordan reached back for the gun.

He heard Susan Blanchette begging the son of a bitch to spare Moira and drive away. She pointed to Leo and him. “They’re both dead,” she said. “No one holds anything over you now. You can just drive away, Allen. Please, let her be….”

He only glimpsed Meeker for a few seconds. His face was bleeding. He had Moira by the hair and held an ax blade to her throat. He kept saying he didn’t want any witnesses. Moira was screaming and crying.

Jordan was about to raise the gun and fire. But he was too far away and didn’t want to risk shooting Moira. Just when he thought he had Allen Meeker in his sights, Susan would move between them, blocking the way. It was almost as if she were doing it on purpose.

Stepping back toward the cabin’s front door, Susan glanced over her shoulder again. Now she could see the boy with the gun was Jordan, and he was alive. But she couldn’t let Allen see that. So she kept obstructing his line of vision by placing herself between Allen and the boys.

The more she pulled back, the closer she drew Allen toward the young man whose mother he’d murdered. And that young man had a gun. Susan just hoped his aim was good.

Allen still had Moira in his grasp.

“You can’t kill her, Allen,” Susan said, taking another step back. “Not yet. If you do, then you’ll never get a description of Deputy Shaffer’s partner. He’ll always be hounding you….”

“What are you talking about?” Allen grumbled.

“Moira told me—after I found her in that old warehouse,” Susan continued. “She said that
two
men abducted her.”

“Shaffer never mentioned a partner in any of his e-mails or letters,” Allen said, eyes narrowed at her. “He didn’t say anything today about it either. You’re lying….”

“No, she’s not!” Moira insisted, her voice shrill. “There were two of them—a good-looking cop, and th-th-the other one’s an older guy with red hair. He breathes funny. I think he’s got asthma or something….”

That a girl
, Susan thought. Moira was going along with the whole fabrication—and it was buying them time.

“Lying bitches, the both of you,” Allen grumbled.

Susan furtively glanced over her shoulder. She was close enough to see the gun in Jordan’s trembling hand.

She turned to look at Allen. “We’re telling the truth,” she said, clutching her fist against her chest. “On our way to the car, Moira asked me, ‘Who is Allen Meeker?’ She said the two kidnappers were talking about you. This other man knows who you are….”

Allen yanked Moira’s head back. “Did you get the other guy’s name?”

“I think—I think the cop called him Jake,” she answered, trembling. “They kept talking about you….”

Susan took one more step back and then snuck another glance at Jordan. She saw him raising the gun and the determined look in his eyes.

Then she moved aside.

Jordan suddenly had him in his sights. He was so close.

But Meeker still held Moira in front of him. “Jake
who
?” he asked, screaming in Moira’s ear. “Did you get his last name? What did they say about me? Tell me, goddamn it….”

Beyond the yelling, Jordan heard something else—the distant wail of a police siren. Meeker must have heard it, too, because he suddenly shut up and glanced toward the driveway.

All at once, Moira let out a shriek. She elbowed him in the face and broke away. She faltered as she tried to run. But Susan rushed forward and pulled her up.

Meeker was only momentarily stunned. He hadn’t even dropped the ax. He gave his head a little shake and then started after them.

Holding up the crippled Moira, Susan tried to retreat toward the house. But they were too slow. Moira couldn’t run. Meeker was just a few paces behind them—with the ax raised.

“Do it!” Susan shouted.

Jordan realized she was talking to him. He squirmed out from beneath his friend’s dead weight. The gun wavered in his trembling hand.

Meeker suddenly seemed to realize who Susan was talking to as well. He stopped in his tracks, turned toward Jordan, and blinked.

Their eyes met.

Jordan aimed the gun at his mother’s killer and squeezed the trigger. A loud shot rang out, and Jordan felt an electric-like jolt surge up his arm.

But Allen Meeker was still standing, still gaping at him.

Jordan dragged himself across the ground. He tried to keep the gun pointed at Meeker. He had to get closer. For a moment, he was in that kayak again, an eight-year-old boy rowing frantically, desperate to reach his mother and ward off her attacker.

He gazed at that same man now. Jordan felt as if he were about to pass out from the exhaustion and pain, but he kept crawling toward him.

Meeker lunged forward and grabbed Susan’s arm. He wrenched her away from Moira, who cried out and helplessly collapsed on the ground. Meeker twisted Susan’s arm behind her back. She shrieked in pain, but didn’t acquiesce. She kept struggling.
“Jordan, help!”

It was his mother’s voice he heard.

And it was his mother’s murderer now turning to look at him as he was about to kill again.

Jordan fired the gun once more.

He hit the son of a bitch in the neck. Allen Meeker gasped, and the ax dropped out of his hand. Susan broke free from him and rushed toward Moira.

Clutching his throat, Meeker grimaced as blood oozed between his fingers. He seemed to be choking. A look of astonishment passed across his face—as if he’d never imagined he could have been stopped by one of his victim’s sons.

Jordan watched Meeker fall to his knees. He flopped forward, and he hit the ground, face-first. A spasm convulsed his body for a moment; then he was utterly, perfectly still.

Mama’s Boy was dead.

Jordan had waited ten years to see that.

Past the sound of a siren in the distance, he heard something else. It was his mother reassuring him.
It’s okay, kiddo,
she was saying.
It’s all over. You can finally rest now….

Then everything went out of focus. He squinted up at Moira and Susan as they hobbled toward him. He looked back at Leo, still slumped over the front stoop. His friend was just a blur. Jordan dragged himself over to him and took him in his arms. Leo was still breathing, he could tell that much. Then Jordan felt himself slipping away.

It wasn’t just one siren. There were several.

The state police cars and ambulances pulled up the driveway on Cedar Crest Way, behind the deputy’s car and Susan’s old Toyota. The front of the Prewitt cabin was suddenly bathed in a swirling red light. But Susan and Moira weren’t looking at all the emergency vehicles descending on the remote cottage. They were more concerned about the two wounded young men sprawled across the cabin’s front stoop. Susan held Moira up, and the girl hobbled alongside her as they approached the door.