Eleven Hours (27 page)

Where were the keys to her handcuffs? Who knows? she thought. Who cares?

Lyle was here. The keys would do her no good.

Not even God can help you now.
It rang in Didi's ears. She wasn't so far from God now, standing here amid His angels and sinners, standing next to Lyle under the Texas sky.

She didn't want to stand any longer. The day had been too long, she had been too long without water, without hope. She wanted to lie down. Her girls, her husband, her young life, they all felt behind her now. She rocked from side to side in front of Lyle, holding the broken bottle between her hands.

This is as bad as things get, she thought.

Is this what dying is? Didi wondered, swaying, weakening. Every labored breath I take, I think this is my last, and death is standing in front of me, looking at me with his shiny eyes, wondering how best to take my life from me. How best to take my heart from me.

“Where are we going, Lyle?” Didi said wearily. “Because I'm very tired. I need to sit down.”

“Yeah, this isn't NorthPark, is it, Didi?”

“No, it isn't, not by a long shot.” She stepped away from him, tightening the grip on the bottle.

He led her out of the forest. Squeezing her arm, he added, “Maybe in Pfluger Park you can show me the nice things you bought at Victoria's Secret.”

She obediently went with him. Not that she had much choice. Maybe there were people in Pfluger Park. Maybe teenagers were there.

He kept his hand on her all the way to the car. It was dark even under moonlight, and there were many gravestones Didi would have tripped over if it hadn't been for his helping her. He walked slightly in front of her, finding the way, holding her solicitously.

Losing herself for a moment, longing for help, she leaned into Lyle.

Save me,
Didi prayed,
my life from the power of the dog.

She was so grateful to sit down in the car that she threw her head back on the headrest and soon felt herself drifting off. She lost track of him for a short moment but was brought back to life by another violent pain in her belly.

The car kicked up a flurry of stones, speeding in the night toward Pfluger Park.

9:20 P.M.

They were in the air again, and Rich couldn't sit still. All he wanted to do was pace. Scott, too, was jittery. He took off his load-bearing vest, and frantically spoke on the phone to a member of the San Angelo police force and the sheriff at Eden, asking for reinforcements to come to the home of the Blecks on Wyona Avenue in Eden. He had already instructed the SWAT men from Abilene to drive to the tiny town.

When he got off the phone, he said nervously, shoving a stick of gum in his mouth, “Rich, we got him, man, we got him.”

“We got nothing,” said Rich.

“No, you were right, man. That's where he's going. Eden.”

“Going? Yes. Staying? He isn't going over to shoot the breeze with the in-laws.”

“No, but our Lyle is obsessed with ending up in Eden. Think about it. He wasn't going to change his course for anything. He's on the run, he knows we're on to him, he knows he doesn't have much time. So what does he do? Nothing. Changes cars. But continues on. Why? Because there's something in Eden he wants.”

Yes,
Rich thought,
to kill my wife,
but couldn't say the words out loud.

“It's dark now,” he said. “Where will we find them?”

“Let's talk to the Blecks first,” said Scott. “They'll tell us.”

Rich tried to see in the dark. Wasn't it dangerous to fly a helicopter at night? What if something hit them? He didn't care. Let something hit them. Where was his Didi?

Rich said, “Why don't we call ahead this time?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Well, yes,” said Rich, shrugging.

“You may have something.”

Perplexed, Rich watched as Scott got the Blecks' number from information. “The phone's ringing. What do you want me to say, Rich?”

Rich grabbed the phone away from Scott. “What, are you crazy? Yeah, and why don't you tell them how many federal agents are going to be at the scene, while you're at it.”

Scott grabbed the phone back. “Why do you think you're the only smart one around here?” He listened into the phone. “Ah, shit. It's an answering machine.”

Shaking his head with disbelief, Rich said, “Hey, leave a message.”

“Hello?” said Scott. “Mr. and Mrs. Bleck, this is Scott Somerville with Federal Express. We have a package here for you. We'd like to know when is the best time to deliver it to you. You can reach us at…”

After Scott hung up, Rich stared at him for a few moments. “Does that
ever
work?”

Scott smiled, dialing another number. “We'll find out, won't we?”

“What if he's there?”

Scott stopped smiling. “We'll find out, won't we?”

9:30 P.M.

Didi noticed a twitch at the corner of Lyle's lower lip as he drove out of the cemetery. She hadn't seen it before, but it was pronounced enough that she noticed it in the darkened interior of the car.

He spoke to her soothingly. “Don't worry, Didi. Don't worry. Everything will be all right. I think you'll be pleased with the way it will turn out.”

Didi barely listened to him. Okay; she thought, anytime the good Lord wants to make His plan clear to me, He can. I open the car door on I-75. I scream to Rich. I call 911. I jump out of Lyle's car. I hit Lyle in the head—and nothing. It's almost as if—

As if—

She couldn't think it. Couldn't think the words.

As if I'm meant to die.

How close do I have to get? I'm in the car, and he is next to me. Is that close enough? She looked over at Lyle. She remembered praying for his soul earlier in the day, an eternity ago. Gradually, she had stopped wanting to pray for him and had started to pray for herself. Now, after a day with Lyle, she didn't want to pray for him, she didn't want to pray for herself.

She wanted to kill him.

Clutching the beer bottle neck between her manacled hands, she was consumed with the notion of killing him. Come here, Lyle. Come closer to me. Come closer so I can kill you. How many chances will you give me? And if I have only one chance, will I take it? She moaned under the weight of her helplessness.

I talk the talk, but can I walk the walk? At the cemetery, when he was splayed in front of me sobbing, I took pity on him, and for what? She squeezed the sharp glass tighter. Case in point—when I finally did hit him, he barely flinched.

Am I a person who can kill another human being? Has my life led me to be a person who can kill another human being? She shuddered.

No.

Too late to think about it. She had another contraction. She couldn't keep track of time. Since they'd returned to the car, she'd had three contractions. How many minutes had it been?

Lyle said something she barely heard. “What?” she asked weakly.

“Didn't I tell you? Bad things happen to good people, often for no reason.”

“Lyle, but that's not true!” Didi exclaimed. “Bad things are not happening to me for no reason. They're happening to me because of you.” Didi thought about it and said, “You must think bad things happened to
you
for no reason.”

“Think?” he exclaimed. “They
did
happen to me for no reason.” Lyle didn't look at Didi. “I was a lonely kid. My old man and I never got along. When I met Mel, I thought my life had finally worked out. We lived an okay life. A nice, normal life. What do you think you would do, Desdemona, if your husband and kids were killed and you were left with nothing?”

“Do you think I would take my heartbreak out on you?” she exclaimed. “No. I might take my own life—”

He said, “You wouldn't. God-fearing people don't do that.”

I don't fear God, only His silence, Didi thought. And I fear you, you piece of shit.

Another contraction was starting.

“Well, I might go crazy then or something!” she said shrilly, raising her voice in sync with the terrible pain of the contraction. “Ahh,” she cried. “Ahh.” The words came out plaintive, wailing, screeching. “But Lyle, why would I want to hurt you? You did nothing to me. I wouldn't want to hurt you.”

“That's what you think,” he said, turning left off the dark highway onto an even darker road. “And how would you know? Your life's been so easy—” He paused. “Till now. How do you know what you might do?”

Didi held her hands on her belly and half listened to him, half tried to stave off fear. “What can I do for you, Lyle?” she said. “Do you want me to go to Mazatlán with you?”

He didn't answer her, and then the car stopped. Didi peered into the trees illuminated by the headlights. The place looked as deserted as the cemetery. They had exchanged one graveyard for another.

“Get out of the car, Didi.”

When they were outside, standing near a small picnic area, Didi asked, kneading the beer bottle neck in her hands. “Are we in Pfluger Park?”

“Yes,” he replied as he quickly walked around. Didi assumed he was searching the area for people. He held a gun in each hand. God help anyone who's here, Didi thought.

Is he going to shoot me? I'll never even get close to him. Horrified at that moment of never getting her chance at him, she walked toward him, and he whirled around to face her. “What are you doing, Didi?” he asked hotly.

“Nothing, Lyle. Walking to you.”

“Well, don't. I don't trust you anymore. My head fucking hurts because of you.” He moved closer. “What were you hoping for? Were you hoping to kill me?”

“No,” she said. “Just disable you long enough to get to the road.”

“Then why did you run to the woods?”

“Because you didn't seem disabled and the road was a long way off.”

He reached out and touched her chin. Didi willed herself not to move away. Her belly tensed, beginning another contraction.

“You're not stupid, are you, Didi?”

“No,” she said in a small voice.

“Neither am I. I'm not stupid either. Despite your idiotic Desdemona hints. I thought out everything. I planned for everything. The only thing I wasn't planning on was that damn cop. Otherwise everything would have gone so smooth.”

Didi was caving over. Thank God it was dark by the side of the car and Lyle couldn't see her pain-distorted face.

“Lyle?” Didi said. “I'm not feeling so good—”

“How do you think the handcuffs felt against my head?” he retorted malevolently. “You deserve worse.”

“I've been getting worse,” Didi said loudly.

Lyle looked at her, almost surprised. “What's the matter with you?”

She took one step toward him, fiddling with the bottle. “I'm so big and pregnant,” she rasped. “What could I possibly do to you?”

He took one step back. “I was thinking of tying you to the tree. Would you like that better?”

Shaking her head, Didi said she needed a bathroom.

She knew there were no bathrooms. What she wanted was to lie down. Lie down at the bottom of a freshwater lake. Drink, give birth, die.

The thought of dying made her slightly less thirsty.

“I'm going to go sit down on the bench right there, okay?” Didi said as she turned away, making her way down to a picnic table close to the car. She heard Lyle following her. “You're limping,” he said. “You're walking kind of funny. What's wrong with you?”

“I'm just tired, Lyle. Very, very tired, and nine months pregnant.”

Didi sat down. Lyle sat a few feet away from her. “Are you cold? I'll make a fire.”

“The air is standing still, it's so hot. I'm not cold, Lyle. Where would you get that idea?”

He reached over and touched her forehead with his fingertips. “You feel clammy. You're wet with cold sweat.”

She sat still, not moving away from him. That's nice, she wanted to say. That's real nice. Come a little closer. She squeezed the bottle neck between her hands. A little
closer,
Lyle.

He took his hand away. “I'll make a fire.”

Shrugging, she tried to adjust her eyes to the dark. The car's headlights shone, but they were pointing away from them and into the trees. If it were lighter, she could have made out a road somewhere, other trees. But aside from the headlights, blackness surrounded her. She thought making a fire was a crazy idea in this stupefying heat, but a fire was something someone would see. Someone might come over, ask if they were out of their minds making a fire.

Lyle came back and sat next to her again. “You know, Mel and me made a fire here the first time we came to the park. It was summer and dark, like it is now. It was hot but we didn't care. We had a really nice night.”

Didi said nothing.

She saw Lyle peering intently into the trees. “What are you listening to?” asked Didi.

“Shh. I want to hear if they've found us. Don't speak.”

Didi huddled in the far corner of the table, while Lyle sat on top of the table with his feet on the seat and loaded a cartridge into his Colt. Then he sat with both guns cocked and listened. After a few moments he uncocked the guns, placed the police revolver on the table, and turned to Didi. “It's quiet. That's what I love about Eden—you can hear everything. Crickets, cars, police sirens. They aren't here. We'll wait for a little while longer and then we'll go. It's not far from here.”

“What's not far?”

“It's only half a mile through the woods—you just have to know which way to walk.” Lyle seemed to be watching her carefully, and then he moved over and touched her face. “I used to like touching Mel's face,” he said.

How did she feel about it? wondered Didi.

Lyle said, “What do you think your husband is feeling now?”