When Death Draws Near (23 page)

THE WEBS CLUNG TO ME, DRAPING OVER MY
clothing. I tried to keep from whimpering, but a few escaped.

I waited long enough for the watcher to believe I'd hidden Grady's possessions in the cellar. The seconds ticked off in my brain.

Something plopped on my shoulder.

I screamed and tore back up the ladder, not stopping until I was free of the opening. Batting at my clothing and hair, I spun in a circle, ignoring the pain.

Stop it. Get a grip
. I looked one last time into the cellar, then shut the trapdoor. Kicking the rug into place, I hobbled out the front door.

Devin had probably been the one to reset the cabin. He'd missed my clothes on the porch once. I hoped he'd miss them again. I crouched behind them, clutching the ax, just as a car raced up to the front of the cabin. I caught a glimpse of him as he jumped from the car.

I wasn't surprised at the identity of Devin, only the pistol in his hand.

That complicated things.

Breathing heavily, he charged up the steps and slammed the front door open.

I gripped the ax and pushed farther behind the chair and into the corner.

He cocked his head and quieted his breathing, then entered the room.

I stood, moved to the door, and peeked in.

He dropped to his knees and set the pistol on the floor, then pulled something out of his pocket and flicked it open. A switchblade.

I clamped my jaw shut.

Shoving the rug aside, he used the switchblade to pry open the trapdoor.

Swiftly folding the knife and tucking it into his pocket, he picked up the gun. Grasping the rope ladder with one hand, he started climbing down to the cellar.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. Gripping the ax tighter, I crept forward. The tension on the ladder loosened.

Racing the last few feet, I brought the ax down on one side of the rope ladder. The rope split.

The man cursed.

Bang!
The bullet smashed into the ceiling above the open trapdoor.

I ducked.

The remaining side of rope tightened as the man started climbing up.
Bang!
Another shot hit the ceiling.

I bit my lip and tasted blood. Swinging the ax as hard as I could, I struck the rope.

Bam!
The bullet ricocheted off the ax blade.

The rope split but held.

His face appeared out of the gloomy depths, lips pulled from clenched teeth, glaring eyes showing white at the top. One hand gripped the rope, the other swung the pistol, taking aim at my head.

He couldn't miss at this distance.

I kicked his hand with my injured foot. He lost his balance and clutched at the rope ladder.

I swung the ax again, splitting the rope.

He dropped.

I slammed the trapdoor shut.

Bam, bam, bam!
Bullets split the floorboards. I jumped away from the hail of shots and leaned against the wall. A second barrage of fire came from the cellar, blowing holes through the floor.

Gauging the distance I'd have to cover, I did some quick calculations. About twelve feet. Five or so jumps, assuming my sprained ankle would hold.

A lot of bullets.

I tossed the ax to my right. It smashed into the floor and skidded. Immediately the floorboards around it erupted in gunshot. A pause while he reloaded.

I ran.

Bullet holes punctuated my path to the door. I didn't stop until I crossed onto the porch. I caught myself on the railing and held on, afraid if I let go I'd not be able to stand again. My ears continued to ring from the sound of gunfire.

Now I just had to drive over to the Campbells' Halloween party and pick up Aynslee. Just as soon as my legs and hands stopped quivering.

All my things were missing, including my purse. Without a driver's license, I'd have to be careful not to get pulled over.

Devin's muted screams came from the cellar.

“See how you like being in a hole in the ground.” My voice shook.

What had he told the others about my whereabouts? Had I solved all my problems by putting him out of business? Did he have allies?

I thought about the two men in Halloween costumes who commented on my appearance earlier in the evening. A costume at a costume party. My long skirt and blouse still hung over the chair where I'd left them. Snatching them up, I wrinkled my nose at the still-strong horse and campfire smell, then turned and hobbled across the porch and down the stairs. I already looked like Octavia Hatcher, with shredded nails and a broken hand.
If anyone sees me at the party, hopefully they'll think I'm wearing a costume with stage makeup, and not in need of serious medical attention.

Pulling on the stinky long skirt and ugly blouse, I continued to shiver in the chilly night air, all my injuries protesting the movement. Clouds moved in, blanketing the night sky, and the only illumination was from a few stars. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. The Stygian night was dense with unseen eyes and malevolent forces. Halloween night.

Devin's car blocked the driveway. I opened the door and the dome light came on, but no keys conveniently dangled from the ignition.

If he escaped, his car was far too handy. I looked around the yard, straining my eyes in the dark.

A snake coiled by the front steps.

I GASPED. IT TOOK ME A MOMENT TO PROCESS
that the snake wasn't moving. I wiped the sweat off my face, then limped over to the coiled garden hose. Once I turned the hose on, I dragged it to the car, unscrewed the gas cap, and shoved in the hose.

I found my way to Ruby and Elijah's car and started it. Putting the car into gear, I turned around, heading toward Pikeville. Driving with one hand wasn't hard, but using my left foot on the brake and accelerator was. Total exhaustion threatened to take over, and I had to use every ounce of energy to focus and drive. And to pray no police officer pulled me over.

Most of the houses I passed had turned off their porch lights, and many were dark. The trick-or-treaters were long since finished going door to door. The car's digital clock showed 11:15.

Maybe crashing the Halloween party to rescue a daughter who didn't know she needed rescuing wasn't a great idea. I could call the state police.

Yeah, right
. I could hear that conversation.

“911, what's your emergency?”

“Hi, I just caught Devin, a murderer and probably the Hillbilly Rapist and—”

“That person is dead. Shot by police.”

“No. Not really. I mean, he's actually in the cellar, well, make that the snake room—”

“Where is this . . . snake room?”

“Oh, gosh, I don't know the address. He's shooting holes up through the floor, but to him it would be the ceiling—”

“Someone is shooting a gun?”

“Well, yes, but he's not the problem, at least not right now because he can't get out. It's my daughter, who's attending a Halloween party, but she thinks it's just a party—”

No, it would take too much time to convince someone that I wasn't a nutjob.

I could call Blake. I wanted,
needed
to hear his voice. He would have delivered Sarah to the hospital by now and she would be getting treatment. Maybe he could get away and help us. I'd just have to apologize for stealing his horse and putting his family and friends into mortal danger. And indirectly killing his cousins, Ruby and Elijah.

Ruby and Elijah were both dead because of their religious practices. As were a bunch of other folks. Everyone who'd been identified as belonging to that church had been systematically killed by Devin, starting with his own father.

If Blake hadn't found my sketches, all of the serpent handlers would be identified and murdered.

I tried not to go through a series of what-ifs on the way to the party.

A patrol car came toward me, driving slowly.

Here's your chance to get help, get someone to go in with you and get Aynslee
. And what? I had no identification. I looked like the walking dead. And this officer could work for Clay.

I waited until the car was closer, then leaned forward and looked down as if adjusting something on the dashboard. From this angle I couldn't see the driver.

As soon as the patrol car drove by, I checked the rearview mirror. No lights or siren.

I found the correct street and turned, then coasted slowly past the Campbell house. Cars lined the street and all the windows glowed with light. Rock-and-roll music pounded the air. A fake cemetery, complete with a skeleton crawling out of the ground, decorated the front yard. It reminded me of Octavia Hatcher and my own clambering from the bowels of the earth.

I shivered, then turned the car heater up.

The pavement ended at a cul-de-sac. The parking for the Campbell party had spilled up the street, and I didn't spot any open spaces. Taking a chance that the owner wasn't going out this late, I turned off the headlights and coasted into the driveway of the neighboring Tudor house.

I got out of the car, locked it, and stumbled up the street.

The wind stirring the leaves sounded like voices whispering around me. My footsteps echoed off the trees pressing in and surrounding the glowing Campbell house. The scent of caramel and popcorn reminded me I hadn't eaten for over twenty-four hours.

Devin was contained, but did he have allies? Should I march into the party and look for Aynslee?

Trust no one.

Ducking slightly and keeping the parked cars between the
well-lit house and myself, I aimed for the large rocks that I remembered marked the path through the grounds. I walked past the rocks twice before finally locating them. Under the trees, the track was almost invisible. I moved ahead slowly, feeling for the stone walkway with each step. Up ahead, the trail had tiny solar spotlights illuminating the trees and casting a dappled light on the gazebo to my right.

A soft cough came from the gazebo.

I froze.

A man muttered something, and a woman replied.

I remained stationary, still hidden by the dense foliage.

The murmured conversation continued along with shuffling sounds.

Licking my dry lips, I continued forward as quickly as I dared, listening for partygoers out for a late-night stroll. Finding the patio leading to Arless's office, I waited, hidden, to be sure it was empty. I doubted Aynslee would be in Arless's private office, but I could get into the house more easily, or at least more unnoticed. Light glowed through the closed French doors, and I could see no movement inside.

Creeping across the patio, I reached the multipaned doors. They were locked.

My shoulders slumped and eyes blurred. I wanted to just sit down and give in to a good old-fashioned meltdown.
Why can't anything be easy? Just once, God, couldn't You cut me some slack?

God didn't answer. And the door remained locked.

Straightening, I pictured the interior layout. I knew of four entrances to the house. The garage door was the farthest from me. The front door was out. That left the patio where I'd had lunch the first day I'd stayed here.

Climbing up the path until I reached the corner of the house, I paused and visualized the next section of the trail. The window to the room I'd stayed in would be coming up on my left. The landscaping would give way to the patio. If I were very, very lucky, everyone would have moved into the den for late-night drinks.

My teeth chattered in the cold, damp air and my hand pounded with each beat of my heart. Maybe I could wait until morning and just boldly go to the Campbell house and ask for my daughter.
Ha. That's the pain and cold talking.

What if Devin got out? Morning would be too late. How many people were dead because of that horrible man? My own life was almost forfeited, and Aynslee's fate would be unimaginable.

I moved forward, rounding the corner. Voices, laughter, and music greeted me.

My heart sank. Going slower as the foliage thinned near the patio, I halted by a large maple tree.

Skull-shaped, LED string lights dangled over the inebriated crowd. Witches, devils, ghosts, and superheroes, all wearing Venetian masks, clustered around propane patio heaters. A woman in a much-abbreviated nurse's outfit wobbled over to a man in a Grim Reaper costume, knocked against him, and sloshed his drink. Several characters broke into drunken laughter. Mrs. Fields, dressed like a maid and carrying a serving tray, poked through the crowd, making sure everyone's drinks were replenished. A white hankie poked from her sleeve, and she paused by the door to dab her eyes.

Blanche, dressed in a burgundy-and-gold Renaissance dress, joined a group of partygoers standing by the doors. A gangster handed her a folded check. She smiled, peeked at the amount,
then kissed him on the cheek. He said something to her and she shrugged and shook her head. No sign of Aynslee, or at least someone Aynslee's size.

I'd forgotten this was more than a party. This was Arless's political fund-raiser. No wonder the alcohol flowed freely.

I'd never be able to sneak in unnoticed.

Turning, I started down the path to the street, but stopped outside the window to my old room. I'd opened it when I first arrived, then closed it without locking it. Maybe no one had checked.

Reaching over with my good hand, I gave the sash a tug.

It didn't budge.

“Saaay, missy, you mushh be Octavia.”

I spun around.

A drunken cowboy tottered closer from the direction of the patio. His breath could have locked up a Breathalyzer.

“Yeah, sure. How'd you guess?” I sidled away from him.

“Your hands. Look like they clawed out of the ground. Great job, but . . .” He wagged a finger at me. “But you took off your mask. You're not schupposed to do that till midnight.” He pulled off the black-and-red mask he wore and slipped it over my head, then rested his clammy hand on my shoulder.

I wanted to slap it off and run, but he could raise an alarm and bring attention to my presence. “Well now—”

“That's better.” He let go of my shoulder and took my arm in a surprisingly tight grip. “Let's go join the party.” He pulled me toward the patio.