You Only Die Twice (8 page)

This was
her chance and Cheryl wasted no time in seizing it.
 
She stood, shook the mud off her arms
and waited for the man to recede from sight before she bolted to her right in
her rotten high-heeled boots and tapped into old instincts as she ran.
 
Her father and grandfather had taught
her how to survive if she ever was lost in the woods, which sometimes happened
with hunters and often with hikers.

The
woods were a sensible habitat.
 
She
first needed to get to a place where she could stop, listen and collect
herself.
 
Panic also was her enemy,
so she needed to avoid it.
 
She
needed to find or build the sort of shelter that wouldn’t just protect her, but
also act to conceal her from him, should he find her.
 
It wasn’t starvation or dehydration that
would kill her first.
 
It was either
hypothermia or, if he did find her, her death would be delivered by him.

But she
refused to allow either to happen.
 
Cheryl Dunning already had died once.
 
She died at the hands of Mark Rand and
she was damned if she was going to die twice.
 
At least not now.
 
Not this soon.
 
Not at thirty-one.
 
Not when she hadn’t met the man of her
life and married him, not until she had children of her own and watched them
grow, not until she had her grandchildren around her, and not until she and her
husband, whoever he turned out to be, grew old together so they could
appreciate all they had accomplished at the end of their lives.
 

She had
her entire life in front of her.
 
And right now, she was going to secure that life.
 
She was going to fight for that life
because in spite of everything she’d been through, and especially because of
the death she’d already been dealt once, her life was worth a fight.
 
It was worth a battle.
 
She didn’t know who this crazy
motherfucker was, but she was going to take him on and she was going to win
because she was worth the fight.

And in
her soul, even though she didn’t know where she was, because of her history of
exploring the Maine woods with her father and grandfather, she bet she knew
these woods better than that bastard ever dreamed he did.

Game on,
baby
, she thought as she ran.
 
Game on.

CHAPT
ER FIFTEEN

Patty
Jennings arrived at Cheryl’s apartment house on Maple Street in Bangor just
past ten-thirty.
 
She parked her
Jetta in front of the house, stepped out into the cool air and went to the side
door, where Cheryl had a private entrance that led to her second-story
apartment.
 

She rang
the buzzer and waited while all around her, leaves in impossibly bright colors
of orange, yellow and red fell from the trees standing tall along the sidewalks
and behind her in the small yard.
 
Soon it would be winter.
 
After this morning’s threat, she wondered what her life would be like
then.

Two
minutes passed, and no answer.
 
She
rang the buzzer again, waited, and then, when Cheryl didn’t answer, she decided
they needed to just have it out so Cheryl could tell her off and so that Patty
could apologize to her.
 

To her
left, against the foundation, was a rock.
 
Beneath that rock was the key to Cheryl’s apartment.
 
Patty got it, unlocked the door and
called up the stairs.
 
“It’s me,
Cheryl.
 
I’m coming up.
 
I know you’re angry with me, so let’s
talk.”

There
was no reply.
 
She was ignoring her.

Fine.

She
walked up the staircase, turned left into the kitchen and expected to find
Cheryl sitting at her breakfast table having tea or coffee with a pissed-off
look on her face.
 
But she wasn’t
there, though her cat, Blanche, was sitting on the window sill that overlooked
the side yard.
 
Patty kneeled down,
called the cat over to her, and when she came, she noticed that her bowl of
food was empty.
 
So, Cheryl was
still in bed, because if she was up, she would have fed Blanche by now.

The cat
rubbed against her leg and Patty scratched its back before she went into the
dining room and found it empty.
 
Same for the living room, which caused her to pause because the lamps on
either side of the sofa were on and the shades at the windows were drawn.
 
Puzzled, she called out Cheryl’s name
again, got no reply, and walked through the hallway that led to her bedroom,
which also was empty.
 
The bed was
made, the lights were on, and on the bed were various outfits that Cheryl must
have tried on the night before.

It
didn’t take a genius to figure out that Cheryl hadn’t come home.
 

So,
where was she?
 
The Grind was a good
eight miles from here, so she wouldn’t have walked.
 
She could have taken a cab, but that
obviously wasn’t the case because she’d be here now.
 
Had she gone home with somebody?
 
That went against everything she knew
about Cheryl, but they had been a little drunk, so it was a possibility, though
a slim one.
 
She couldn’t see it
happening.
 
Ever since what happened
to Cheryl at the hand of Mark Rand, she hadn’t been intimate with or close to
any man.
 
Patty knew that.
 
For good reason, her friend wasn’t trusting
of many people.
 
She had
acquaintances through work, but were any at The Grind last night?
 
Did somebody she knew come out of the
club and offer her a ride to their place, and then to her apartment in the
morning?

None of
it sounded plausible.

Standing
here now, in her friend’s empty bedroom with the lights on and Cheryl’s bar
clothes laid out on the bed, Patty felt an uneasiness that made her reach into
her pocket for her cell so she could call Cheryl’s.
 
The phone rang three times before the
chill of Cheryl’s voice asked her to leave a message and that she would get
back to her soon.
 
The fact that she
hadn’t come home and wasn’t answering her cell was enough to drive Patty out of
the apartment and down the stairs so she could hurry around to the front of the
house.
 

The
Colemans were Cheryl’s landlords.
 
They were among the few people in Bangor who were kind to Patty because
they had come to know her over the years through Cheryl, their longtime
tenant.
 

Once, in
a moment of confidence, Mr. Coleman took her aside while she was waiting beside
her car for Cheryl and told her in his own way that she could call on him for
anything should she feel the need to do so.
 
Since he was a lawyer, the undercurrent
was clear.
 
What he was telling her
is that if she ever felt discriminated against at work because of “any gossip
or lies that could affect you,” of which he must have heard, which humiliated
her because she had developed a great fondness for him, he would help her.

She
walked up the steps that led to the front door and rang the doorbell.
 
It was a moment before Mrs. Coleman, a
woman somewhere in her late sixties with a broad face to match her thick body,
answered with a kitchen towel in her hands.
 
She smiled at Patty as she opened the
door and when she did, Patty could smell the scent of something sweet behind
her.

“Perfect
timing,” she said, stepping aside.
 
“I just made sugar cookies for the grandchildren.
 
Come in and have one.
 
You can be the lab rat.”
 
She looked behind her.
 
“Is Cheryl not around?”

Patty
moved inside and stood in the foyer.
 
“Actually, she isn’t, which is why I’m here, Mrs. Coleman.
 
I was hoping you had seen her.
 
Or possibly heard her come home last
night?
 
Or move around upstairs this
morning?”

“I
haven’t, dear, but maybe Mr. Coleman heard her, in spite of his presumed
hearing problems.
 
He’s the light
sleeper, not me.
 
I read my little
romance novels and they leave me exhausted.
 
And trembling.
 
All that activity knocks me out.
 
At this point, I can handle one shade of
gray.
 
Forty-nine more would kill
me.”
 
She turned and called over her
shoulder.
 
“James,” she said.
 
“Patty’s here.
 
She’s wondering if either of us have
seen or heard Cheryl since last night.
 
Have you?”

“Have I
what?”

Mrs.
Coleman turned to Patty with an irritated look on her face.
 
“The man claims he can’t hear a
thing.
 
I’m not sure whether I believe
him, because he has selective hearing.
 
If I ask him to take out the trash, guess who’s doing it an hour
later?
 
If I tell him it’s time to
eat and it smells good, guess who’s seated at the dinner table?
 
And he wonders why I
consume
those novels of mine.
 
Why I rip
through them.
 
Oh, look who’s here
now.”
 

She
looked up at her husband, who came from somewhere in the back of the house and
now stood tall behind her, his silver hair neatly clipped, his eyes almost
unnaturally blue.
 
“I mentioned that
you have bad hearing and suddenly you can hear.
 
I wonder how much of your hearing loss
is true.”

He
looked at Patty and shook his head.
 
“Don’t ever get married,” he said.

“Someday,
I’d like to.”

“Save
yourself.”

“Yes,”
Mrs. Coleman said, “save yourself.
 
Run
if anyone comes.
 
You’ll never
regret it.
 
If you want children,
you can always adopt, which isn’t a bad option at all.
 
You can have the pick of the litter.”

Patty
flushed.

“What’s
the matter, Patty?” James Coleman said.
 
“When we put on a show like that, you’re usually up for it.
 
What’s the problem?”

“I can’t
find Cheryl,” she said.
 
“I was
wondering if you or Mrs. Coleman heard her come home last night, or maybe heard
her this morning.
 
Mrs. Coleman said
she hasn’t heard or seen her.
 
Have
you?”

He shook
his head.
 
“I haven’t.
 
She’s not answering her phone or her
door, I take it?”

“She
isn’t.”

“I heard
her leave last night,” he said.
 
“Was that your car that pulled up?
 
I didn’t see it, but I heard a car.
 
Sounded like yours.”

She
nodded.
 
“That was me.”

“If you
don’t mind my asking, where did you go?”

“It was
my birthday.
 
We went down to The
Grind to dance.
 
It was a girls
night out.
 
Some fun since I was
turning thirty.”
 
She realized she
sounded defensive about going to a club, as if it was wrong for someone her age
to go do a dance club.
 
She wondered
if she’d ever shake the damage of what her ex-boyfriend had done to her.

“Well,
happy birthday,” James Coleman said.

“Thank
you.”

“Did you
leave together?”

She
shook her head, and when she did, her stomach sank.
 
A few more questions and she’d be on the
cusp of telling him that she left Cheryl behind and taken off with a man she
didn’t know.
 
She felt overwhelmed at
that moment, not because she had disappointed herself, which she had, but
because she was about to disappoint them, which was more upsetting to her
because they were among the few who believed in her.
 
Worse, because she had gone off with a
man, she wondered how that would affect her relationship with them now.
 
She knew what would happen.
 
She knew the connections they’d
make.
 
They’d wonder if all those
rumors about her were true.
 
It was
only human.
 
Whatever they thought
of her now, their minds would turn to all that town gossip and question whether
they really knew her at all.

And what
if they believe the rumors are true?
 
You
did
go off with a stranger.
 
And he caught it all on camera.
 
How will you explain that when it leaks?