The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (11 page)

Almost
immediately, the economy collapsed and put the construction company out of
business. As he struggled to pay the bills, Rayanne’s depression grew worse.

It
was a Sunday morning, the first anniversary of Connor’s death, when he found
his wife in the bathtub. She’d cut her wrists. He rushed her to the hospital,
and later had her committed for depression. When she was eventually released,
Rayanne returned to a home that had been foreclosed by the bank and to an
out-of-work husband who was dealing with his own demons.

He
wondered if that’s what those punk kids were—his demons. If he was honest with
himself, he knew what they were after. But he didn’t have anything to give
them. Nothing but bad luck. The thought made him chuckle.

An
extraordinarily atrocious run of bad luck. That’s what he had.

And
he couldn’t give that away. Not now. Not even if he wanted to.

Owen
shifted in the seat. The motion sent a shockwave of pain through his shoulder,
which caused him to flinch. That reopened the wound in his stomach, and he
cried out in pain.

After
a moment, it subsided. His blood pressure returned to normal. He could breathe
again.

He
looked out the window at the rain. To his right, he could make out only a
gnarled wall of branches. Sticks and leaves scraped the window like fingers
trying to scratch their way through the glass. Out the driver’s side, he could
slightly see the slope of the ditch. Water was streaming in little rivers
through the mud and pooling under the truck. He knew at some point he would see
Rayanne return from that direction.

She’d
slide down through the mud, into the ditch. Perhaps the sheriff or the fire
department would be behind her. Or maybe some joker who had driven by as she
stood on the side of the road waving her arms, begging for somebody, anybody,
to stop. At some point she’d return, so he concentrated on the thought of her.
Her smile. Her voice. Her feet on his dashboard. He jolted again, realizing
he’d dozed off. But only for a second. He had to watch for Rayanne.

Owen
let out a long exhale, realizing he felt marginally better. The catnap helped.
At least his leg no longer felt like someone was shoving a hot poker into his
calf muscle. It had calmed down to a continuous, painful throbbing. He wasn’t
sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

He
decided he didn’t care anymore, so he listened to the rain. It made a constant
thumping above him that was at the same time relaxing and migraine inducing.
But there was nothing he could do, other than endure it.

Endure.
He had to endure.

He
wondered again when Rayanne would return, and turned his head the best he could
to look out the driver’s side window. A rock was sliding down in a stream of
rainwater. Mud and a larger wave followed, perturbing the smooth grooves the
running water had carved into the slope.

Adrenaline
filled Owen’s veins and he sat up, unaware of the pain this time. Someone was
coming. He could hear the sloshing splash of boots making their way down into
the ditch. He saw them—dark and muddy—and knew instantly it wasn’t his wife. It
was someone else. Owen tensed. His left leg pressed against the guitar lying on
the floorboard as he readied the shotgun to fire. He knew it was a matter of
time before the teenagers found him. Now they would kill him. Even if he had
what they wanted, he knew he wasn’t leaving this truck alive. At least he’d be
taking one of them with him.

The
rain intensified, blurring the gray woods. He heard movements outside of the
truck. Heavy footsteps splashed near the driver’s side door. The handle
jiggled.

Owen’s
arm trembled and he aimed.

* * * * *

Rayanne
huddled in the back of the yellow Volkswagen, wishing Owen’s worn-out T-shirt
provided more warmth. She drew her arms through the sleeves, to the core of her
body, and wrapped them around her chest. She knew she was wasting time.
Valuable time. Every second counted, and she was cowering from the dark and
rain like a frightened schoolgirl. Her husband was waiting for her. Needed her.

Could
she really walk through the woods at night, though? Even if the rain stopped,
could she make it to the county road through the darkness?

Bringing
her knees up to her chest, she pushed back against the seat as far as possible.
It pressed hard against her back and somehow felt comforting. She listened to
the rain hit the roof and could see out the window across from her. Night
seemed deeper in the woods. Like a thick, living thing surrounding her.

She
shut her eyes, blocking it out. Her stomach growled, and she remembered the
granola bar in her jeans pocket. She thought about opening it, eating it, but
the thought made her stomach turn. So she let it be.

She
focused on Owen and wished she was with him now. She should’ve never left him.
She knew better, but she caved in to his demands. He wanted her to go. He
wanted her to get help. And she relented. She always relented.

She
hoped this time it didn’t kill them both.

Silently
in her head she prayed, asking God to protect her and to watch over her
husband. She asked Him to lead her out of the woods to find help. She waited
for an answer.

Lightning
brightened the sky and thunder rocked the Volkswagen. For a second she could
see the junkyard, then it went dark. She twisted her body so she could plant
her face into the back of the bench seat. It felt brittle and dirty. It smelled
of mold, but there was also an inherent safety within the car.

Then,
phantom spiders crawled up the nape of her neck. Rayanne swatted at them.

She’d
wait out the rain, she told herself, summoning her courage. Then she’d climb
out of the car and head back into the woods. She’d find that dirt path again—it
would be slick with mud by now—and she’d follow it to the paved county road.
She’d follow it until she came to that windmill, like some kind of protective
sentinel watching over the forest. And she’d wave down a passing car. She’d
find help.

Lightning
crackled, bathing the interior of the car in a flash of blue light.

Then
darkness.

Wait
out the rain, Rayanne told herself again, and shut her eyes. Wait out the rain.

* * * * *

Aiming
the shotgun, Owen again heard someone outside jiggling the driver’s side door
handle. This time, a black mass stepped within view of that window.

Owen’s
finger trembled on the trigger as lightning lit the woods. In the flash he saw
a familiar face pressed against the glass. Owen put down the gun and exhaled a
long breath.

“Darryl,”
he said, his voice choked. “Darryl …”

Owen
wanted to cry in relief. He’d never been so happy to see his buddy. For a
second he thought he might be dreaming.

The
door opened, letting in a wash of rain and wind. Darryl poked his head in the
cab as water spilled off the bill of his ball cap. He looked at the crunched
steering wheel pushed down close to the edge of the driver’s seat. He turned
toward Owen.

“Bud?”
Darryl’s voice cracked. It was more of a whimper than a greeting.

“You
look like hell,” Owen said. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Darryl’s right eye
was swollen shut. Beneath, it looked like there was a shard of glass lodged in
his cheek. The bridge of his nose was cut open. His mouth was bloody and he was
missing a front tooth.

Darryl
looked toward the back, and he folded the driver’s seat down to squeeze into
the space. He reached over the seat to shut the door, locking out the rain. He
leaned back and gave Owen a faint, painful smile.

“You
don’t look so pretty yourself.” Darryl’s voice was lost in his throat and he
struggled to get the words out. “You okay?”

Owen
shook his head. “My leg’s bad. Real bad. But I’ll live.”

Darryl
glanced at the driver’s seat, the steering wheel mashed into the cushion. “Your
truck’s messed up somethin’ bad. Rayanne okay?”

“She
went to get help.”

This
seemed to cause Darryl physical pain and he leaned forward. “No, damn it. How
could you let her leave? Those punk kids are out there. They’ll kill her.”

“No
one knows we’re here. She had to get help.”

Darryl
shook his head, squinting his left eye. The gash across the bridge of his nose
still bled. “How long has she been gone?”

Owen
leaned back in his seat again, resting his head. He shut his eyes and tried to
stuff down the waves of pain shooting through his body. He coughed, then tried
to speak. “Six, seven hours, I guess. I don’t know.”

“She
should be back by now.”

“Yeah,”
he said quietly. “I know.”

Darryl
raised himself up again. He kept his face as still as possible, hardly moving
his lips when he spoke. The voice that emerged sounded easily breakable itself.
“I better go find her.”

He
struggled to move and winced in pain, then fell back in the seat. He groaned.
Owen turned his head, struggling to look at him in the backseat. Again he
noticed the glass shard in Darryl’s cheek.

“You
been beat up somethin’ awful,” Owen said.

Darryl
lifted up the front of his blue-and-white striped shirt. Dark purple bruises
had formed on his stomach below his rib cage.

Owen
shook his head. “Your ribs are broken,” he said. “Internal bleeding.”

“I’ve
had worse.” Darryl cleared his throat, coughed, and spit something hard and
bloody onto the floorboard.

Owen
watched him, and when Darryl looked up, their eyes locked.

“What?”
Darryl asked. “It’s not like you’ll be driv’n this truck no more.”

Owen
said nothing and just stared at his buddy. Deep lines marred Darryl’s face,
sole lines, probably, from one of the teens’ boots. They hadn’t bled, but the
indentations stood out on his swollen cheek like map lines showing where the
face could be broken apart.

Darryl
lay back in the bench seat.

Owen
remained still in the front passenger seat, listening to Darryl wheeze as he
struggled to breathe. Rain beat louder on the rooftop. Thunder rumbled, shaking
the vehicle. Gradually, the rain stopped and darkness settled in the ditch. It
blanketed the Chevy. Owen figured the sky was probably cloudy, blocking the
moon.

The
two men sat silently in the Chevy, waiting. Neither spoke until a sudden cry
rang out. Loud and terrified.

The
cry continued, and Owen forced himself up in the seat. He looked out the
driver’s side window but couldn’t see anything more than a thick blackness.

“Sounds
like a coon,” he said.

“A
coon mad ’bout something.” Darryl choked when he spoke. He cleared his throat.
“Think it’s nearby?”

“Sounds
like it.” Owen gave up and turned away from the window. “Sounds like something
got it.”

They
listened to its cries of agony. It went on for another hour before the dark
woods fell silent. Owen suspected that something had finally killed it. Gradually,
a symphony of bullfrogs replaced the silence. Owen knew the lake must be
nearby.

“I
hope Rayanne’s okay,” he said in a soft voice, breaching the uneasy silence in
the truck. He turned his head toward the backseat.

Darryl
opened his good eye. It looked like he was trying to focus it, as if he
couldn’t see enough of Owen, and mumbled, “Me too.”

They
said nothing more that night and waited for her return.

* * * * *

When
she was sure the rain had stopped, Rayanne climbed out of the Volkswagen and stretched.
She looked around. Halfway across the hollow, the upward slope had receded to
nothing but a misty outline of trees. A few steps farther and they were
swallowed in a thick fog. Rayanne shuddered. She was alone in the dark and she
could smell the dampness, the rusted metal, and mildew in the forest. Looking
up at the moon shining through the clouds, a solid white light rising over the
tree line in the west, she realized she was running out of time. She had to get
to the county road. She had no choice but to cross the woods at night.

She
slammed the car door shut with a loud, squeaking bam that echoed through the
hollow and reverberated in the trees overlooking the dump. She listened to it
as she turned and stepped away from the rusted car. The echo gradually faded
and then the growling began.

Rayanne
froze and fell back a step. All her muscles tensed. She listened, and heard it
again: a low rumbling growl. Her neck twisted to the left, then to the right.
It was too dark to see. She squinted, her heart thumping.

The
mist shimmered between the trees. It reminded her of smoke, like remnants of a
campfire, and she imagined the entire forest smoldering.

Then,
from the mist, Luger stepped into the moonlight.

Rayanne’s
heart stopped. “Dropp’n F,” she whispered.