Riverbend (35 page)

“Shut up, you stupid cow.” His mouth was next to her ear, his breath hot and stale. “I'll take what's mine before I kill you.” He cupped her breasts. “Jesus, there's nothing left of you.”

She felt his erection against her thigh. She gagged, feeling as if she might vomit.
No, no, no, she chanted silently in her head. I will not let you do this. You will not win now, not after all the years it took to build my life.

Suddenly, she twisted onto her side and using all the power in her legs, from all the hours and hours she'd spent making them strong and agile, she shoved her feet into his chest. He fell back onto the floor. She jumped from the bed and onto him, straddling him, and reached for the gun in his pocket. But as strong as she was, she was no match for a man twice her size. He twisted her arm behind her back until she cried out in pain. Then, as if she were no heavier than a rag doll, he tossed her onto the cot while still sitting on the floor.

He scrambled up from the floor, lurching towards her while unbuttoning his pants. “Don't try that again, you little bitch. Kind of a turn-on, though, I gotta say.”

Just then, her phone rang. Drake's ring: soft guitar chords.

“Ah, here's your boyfriend. Now's as good a time as any to tell him what I want. Let's put him on speaker phone.” He took his gun out of his pocket, cocked it, and pointed it at her. “You keep quiet or I'll kill you right here and now.” He answered the phone. “Drake Webber. How nice of you to call.”

“Where is she?” Drake's voice was angry but she could tell he was frightened, too. Annie scooted as far back on the cot as she could, pressing into the wall, crying silently.

“You won't find us unless I want you to.”

“What do you want?”

“What do you think?”

“How much?”

“A million dollars.”

“When and where?” said Drake, without hesitation, as if he were talking to a colleague about a legitimate business deal.

“In the morning. Eight o'clock in back of the Dairy Queen.”

“I want proof she's still alive,” said Drake.

“Say something,” Marco said to her.

“Drake, don't give it to him. He's going to kill me anyway.” She screamed this, sobbing.

“Shut up,” yelled Marco, smacking her face with the back of his hand. She cried out once again, despite her efforts to remain stoic.

“I want her with you tomorrow or I won't give you a dime,” shouted Drake through the phone, his voice cracking.

“No. I'll tell you where to find her.”

“Absolutely not. No Annie, no money.”

“Then it's off,” said Marco, hanging up the phone and turning off the ringer. “Let's shut this off for a few minutes. Let him sweat it while we get down to business. I need a drink first, though.” He stood, somewhat unsteadily, and poured himself another shot of tequila.

She covered herself in a ratty blanket as her mind turned over and over, grasping for some answer out of this. What could she say or do to keep him from raping her? How could she buy a little time, hoping that the gang would somehow figure out where they were?

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

“You have to squat outside if you need to go.” He tossed her a roll of toilet paper. “I'll go with you. Make sure you don't think it's a good idea to try and run off.”

Once outside, shivering, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dark, she looked up to the stars. And there, shooting across the sky, was a falling star. Tears came to her eyes, remembering her little son, probably terrified as they waited for news.
Stay strong
, she told herself.
Think
. There had to be some way to escape. Could she dive in the water and follow the current into town? But how could she get away from him? Wait for him to fall asleep?

She squatted near a bush and urinated, humiliated as he watched her while he smoked a cigarette, the red butt glowing in the dark night. The sound of the river, a trickle of gushing water, water over rocks, nature's current, always a source of comfort to her, was useless against the terror that wrapped around her like an icy cloak.

Then, in the relative quiet, came the sound of a coyote, howling ominously. And then another, as if answering his call. She stood, wrapping the blanket tighter around her torso, watching Marco. He'd gone still and in the glow of his cigarette she saw his face change. He was afraid. Was it of the coyotes? The howling
penetrated the darkness once again, only this time the sound felt closer. But instead of it making her afraid, it comforted her. She was not alone in this wilderness with a madman. The beasts were there, howling in the night.

“Let's get inside,” he said. And yes, there it was—in his voice—fear.

And then, the howling came again, one after the other, varying slightly in pitch, like they were in conversation. There were more than two, she realized. Perhaps four different pitches? Maybe more. With each howl, the sound grew nearer.

Marco raised his pistol into the air and fired a shot, then another. The sound was deafening. Her ear, injured earlier by Marco's gun, throbbed. The howls ceased for a moment, the sound of the gun reverberating in the still summer night. But after a moment, they erupted once again in cascading tones, drawing nearer and nearer. Marco seemed frozen, holding his gun out in front of him, his eyes scanning the dark. The howls were close now. And then, six sets of yellow glowing eyes in the dark, low to the ground. Marco, breathing heavily, grabbed her and shoved her inside the shack and slammed the door, leaning against it with his body. The howling stopped.

Annie went to the window. It was a pack. And they'd come closer to the house. Behind her, Marco began to pace. “What the hell are they?”

“Coyotes,” she said.

“Why would they come this close to us?”

“I don't know.” She went to the cot and collapsed, her battered body and head aching, expecting the worst. But Marco stayed at the window with his gun pointed towards the howling beasts. “Just let me go and they'll leave.”

“Shut up, you stupid bitch.” He rushed at her, raising his pistol and smacking her hard on the side of the head. Everything went black.

The birds were the first sounds she heard the next morning. For a moment, she was home with Drake, expecting to open her eyes and see him asleep next to her. But in the next instant, it all came rushing back to her.
Marco
. She opened her eyes. He was passed out on the floor in front of the door holding his pistol in both hands, the tequila bottle, not quite empty, beside him. She reached for her clothes and slid into them as quietly as possible, her head and body aching. Marco did not stir. She reached inside the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the ring, wanting to hold it between her fingers for a moment.
Drake. Alder
. They were waiting for her to come home. She must figure out a way to get back to them.

Putting the ring back in her pocket, she tiptoed to the window and looked out. There, in the yard, was the pack of coyotes, sleeping in a semi-circle in front of the shack. The largest one, her friend for all these weeks now, as if sensing her presence, woke and lifted his head, staring back at her. They were here for her.

She turned away from the window, looking around the shack in the light of day. It was nothing more than a pile of boards slapped together. There were several spots along the front wall where the spaces between the boards were big enough to reach a hand through. Had Otis really slept here all these years? Under the cot, there was a small cardboard box. With her foot, she pushed it out from under the sagging makeshift bed and opened it, quietly. It was empty, except for several envelopes from Allie Smith, with an address in a town in Georgia to Otis Smith at Tulane University. The postmarks were 1982. Were these letters from his mother before he disappeared?

Marco stirred slightly and then let out a long snore. She sat on the cot, holding Otis's letters. If I get out of here, she promised herself, she would track down Allie Smith and tell her about Otis. She deserved to know the truth, after all these years.

And then, a sound that at first she could not comprehend—a whirring. A helicopter. Linus. Linus, out looking for her. It had to be. But how to get outside? How to flag him? This she couldn't fathom, with Marco blocking the door. Dare she try and pry the gun from his hands?

Then, it came to her. Perhaps she could signal Linus with the light of her diamond. Perhaps she could reach her hand through one
of the spaces and try to direct its reflection towards the sound.

She moved to the largest space between the boards and pulled out her ring, praying silently that Marco wouldn't wake. Keeping her gaze directed on him, she slipped her hand between the boards, holding the ring between her thumb and index finger. She moved it back and forth, aimed towards the sound. Would it catch in the sunlight and signal Linus?
Please, God, let him see it.

Marco woke then, with a start, looking around the room with bleary red eyes. She yanked her hand back inside, cupping the ring in the palm of her hand.

“Are they still out there?” asked Marco.

“Yes.”

“What's that noise?”

“I don't hear anything.” She put both her hands in the pockets of her jeans, letting the ring fall. The sound of the helicopter grew quieter. Her heart sank. They'd left. They hadn't seen the glint of the ring or Marco's truck.

He got to his feet, grunting slightly. Hurting from the drink. She remembered this from the old days, and time seemed to merge and sway until it was as if ten years had not passed. She was still afraid. He was still dangerous. And she was without her boy. And Drake. Had he ever been real? Had the last ten years actually happened? She felt the bloodied spot on her temple. The blood had dried and caked. She ran her fingers up to her neck where she knew it was bruised purple. Her groin ached. Her left eye was almost closed shut. Yes, here it was again: the pain and humiliation and fear.

She placed her wrist against the small lump in her pocket.
The ring. Drake
. He was real. The ring was real; it was a symbol of all that was good in a life both joyous and difficult.
Love is all there is and all there will ever be.
She turned back to the window. The largest of the pack rose from the ground, standing tall on his four legs, still staring at her. His eyes blinked once, and then again. She glanced down at her hands, at the several small scars she had from cooking. Yes, her life was real. Not the one of terror and pain that had come last night. And not this mad man who stood beside her, cursing, breathing out the remnants of tequila. It was the other life that was real—the one with love and good work and the river that taught you your name.

“What do they want?” Marco asked under his breath.

“They've come for me.”

“What?” He put his hand under her hair and yanked her face to look at him.

“They've come to protect me. From you.”

“They're no match against my gun.”

And then, the sound of the helicopter came once again. The helicopter was coming back, she thought, her heart leaping with sudden hope. The sound grew louder with every passing second. Was it above them? How she longed to rush out to the yard.
I'm here
, she said silently.
Right here. Just look down. See the coyotes.

But there was another sound now, too. A car, possibly more than one, coming down the dirt road. She glanced up at Marco. He heard it, too. He peered out the window, past the coyotes. A lone siren blared. In unison, the coyotes rose to their feet and then began to run, disappearing into the thicket in a matter of seconds.

A cop car stopped near the shack. And there was another car—Mike and Tommy were in the front seat. Fred got out of his car, holding a bullhorn. “Marco, we know you're in there.”

Marco cursed under his breath and grabbed her by the arm. “Open the door,” he said to her, the gun at her temple. Annie did so and they walked into the morning sunlight.

“She's dead if you guys make one move closer to me,” shouted Marco.

Out of the corner of her eye, Annie noticed something in the bushes. Something pink. It was Cindi, holding her gun. Tommy and Mike were out of their car by now. Above, the helicopter hovered. She looked up, shielding her eyes. Drake was sitting next to Linus, never taking his eyes from her. She moved her hand to her heart, and left it there. If Marco killed her, she wanted no doubt in Drake's mind how much she loved him.