The cabin, p.14
The Cabin, page 14
Devon placed his boot on the end of the blade and shoved it into the snow. It wasn’t a heavy shovel, but it was heavy enough. He would dig awhile, get used to its heft, and wait for Rico to be lulled into the rhythm of the job. His heart pounded with anticipation. He tried to channel the anxiety to prepare him for what he was about to do the way he did before a trial.
Several long minutes later, Rico still stared at the night sky. A constellation peeked through the trees. Maybe a piece of Orion? Devon wasn’t sure, but it seemed to have captured the stranger.
He slowed the pace of his digging gradually, as if fatigue was catching up with him, which it was. The goal was to create enough time between shovelfuls to raise the tool above his head and down onto Rico’s without the man noticing until it was too late.
He shoved into the dirt, then tossed the dirt behind him, counting beats between each effort—ten seconds, then twelve, then fifteen. At fifteen, Rico glanced at him. Devon paused and wiped the sweat from his brow. Rico’s gaze returned to the stars. This was it. This was the moment.
Devon lifted the shovel as if to thrust it into the dirt but flipped it high into the air and brought it crashing down. Rico must have felt the wind whistling around him, because he ducked at the last moment and the shovel bounced off his shoulder.
Still, he was injured. Devon had heard the crack. A split second later, Rico righted himself, brandished the knife, and sprang forward. The blade, cold and sharp, ripped through Devon’s jacket but he felt no pain. He raised the shovel again, but Rico was too close to strike.
Devon danced backward, holding the shovel like a baseball bat and swinging. It made contact, but not with Rico’s head as he’d hoped. This time, it glanced off his other shoulder. Devon took another step back, rocked on a tree root, and fell. Rico was on him in a moment, holding the knife to his throat. “Don’t move.”
Devon stilled. Not for himself. His heart raced; anger flared hot within him. He would have gladly fought to the death at this moment, even if it meant they both died. But Caleb. He couldn’t abandon Caleb to this monster.
Rico lifted his face to the sky. “I want to end this.” He spoke as if he were asking permission. Several white breaths later, he took the knife from Devon’s throat, stood, picked up the shovel, and pointed it at Bob’s body. “Get him in the hole.”
7.4.3
FIONA
The fog surrounding Fiona made everything surreal. Each passing minute could have been an hour or a year. Time was meaningless. She felt as if she’d been on the edge of the world forever and would be here forever.
She’d searched for signs for the Arrowhead turnoff for miles, but at some point, she’d given up. She was terrified to remove her gaze from the road and its disappearing and reappearing center line. Cold sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.
Something red flashed through the car. A second later, it flashed again. As if waking from a dream, Fiona chanced a glance in her rearview mirror and saw an emergency vehicle light circling round and round, coming closer.
The relief she felt was akin to joy. She laughed out loud. “Help is coming, Crackers.” She heard the thud of his tail on leather in the back seat.
A moment later, a San Bernardino County sheriff’s black and white SUV pulled in front of her. The vehicle, with its high beams shining into the mist, took the lead. Within twenty minutes the white cloud turned gray then the red of a dying sun. The outside world returned in a blaze of sunset color. The sheriff’s car had led her into Big Bear.
Fiona pulled into a grocery store parking lot and plugged the cabin’s address into her GPS. It was only minutes away. She was limp with exhaustion from the drive. A fire, food, wine, and her husband’s arms sounded like heaven.
She navigated through the town and found the road to the cabin. Soon, it became dirt and narrowed to one lane. Devon had really wanted to get away from it all. This place was more secluded than she’d have chosen, but at this point, it was okay with her.
She almost drove past the house and would have if she hadn’t noticed Devon’s car parked in the driveway. There were no lights on. She pulled in behind him and turned off her engine. Uneasiness settled on her like ashes from a distant fire.
Why weren’t the lights on? Where was the curl of smoke she’d expected to see floating from the chimney? The cabin appeared empty, but Dev’s car was here.
Fiona opened the door, let Crackers out, then walked across the snowy yard to the porch steps. Crackers immediately ran into a stand of trees at the property’s edge to take care of business. She needed to do the same, desperately.
As she climbed onto the porch, she saw a faint glow came from the back of the cabin as if a bedroom light was on. Maybe Devon was putting Caleb to bed? But why leave all the other lights off?
She tried the door handle. It turned. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. A moment later, Crackers bolted in past her. “Dev,” she called into the darkened space, but there was no answer.
Crackers ran into the small living room and began sniffing an area of the floor near the cold fireplace. He whined. She couldn’t tell if it was with excitement or dismay. Fiona toed off her wet boots, picked them up, and moved across the space silently in stocking feet toward the glow she’d seen from outside.
She’d been correct. It came from under a closed bedroom door, at least she assumed it was a bedroom. There were only three doors on the hallway—one closed, two opened. Thankfully, one of the open doors was an empty bathroom. She couldn’t think straight until she used the toilet.
That done, she walked across the hall into the other open room. Inside was a queen-sized bed flanked by rustic bedside tables that were topped with lamps carved into the shape of bears. Devon’s suitcase was on a chair, his backpack leaning against the wall. She dropped her boots on the floor next to the bed and walked into the hallway again.
She turned the knob of the remaining door. It was locked. Her uneasiness grew. This entire night was so strange. Nothing had been as she’d imagined it. It was as if she’d passed through the fog and entered a parallel universe.
Fiona knocked softly on the door and spoke through the crack. “Dev?” Crackers joined her. He sniffed at the bottom of the door and began wagging his tail enthusiastically. Encouraged, she knocked and called louder. “Devon, are you in there?”
A thump, the patter of feet, a fumble at the door and her arms were suddenly full of sobbing boy. “Caleb, sweetie, what’s wrong?”
“Daddy left.” Was all she could get out of him.
She lifted Caleb into her arms, held him against her and rocked him until he quieted. “Talk to me, baby. Where did Daddy go?” she said as she deposited him on the bed.
Caleb wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t know.”
Devon might not be Mr. Rogers, but she couldn’t believe he’d leave Caleb alone unless there’d been an emergency. “Did he go with someone?”
Her son nodded. “Rico.”
Rico, wasn’t that what Dev had said Caleb called his Lego man? “Who’s that, sweetheart? Who’s Rico?”
Caleb’s lip drooped, and a tear slid from his eye. “I don’t like him.”
A pinprick of fear trailed up Fiona’s spine. Had he found them? She gave her head a small shake. No. He was dead. Sylla said he was dead. “Is he a neighbor, honey?”
Now Caleb’s eyes filled with tears, and his mouth opened in a silent wail. She hugged him, and he screamed into her chest. What had happened here? Her son had been traumatized, that much was clear.
Something was very wrong here. All of her spider senses told her to get out. She’d take Caleb to town, then call 911 or go straight to the sheriff’s station. She didn’t like running when she had no idea where Devon was, but her first priority was her child.
“Come on,” she said and took Caleb’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“Daddy,” he said.
“Daddy will be okay.” She didn’t know if this was true. “The policemen can come find Daddy,” she added, more for herself than for Caleb.
They held hands and ran down the hallway toward the open front door, Crackers clicking beside them. As they drew closer to the kitchen, the dog stopped. Fiona stopped with him. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
She could feel a cold breeze through the halfway open door. She wanted to rush through it, but she trusted the dog’s instincts. There was something dangerous ahead.
The low rumble grew in volume until it became a chainsaw of sound. A shadow appeared on the wood floor between her and the exit. Caleb whimpered and pressed his face into her hip. “Who’s there?” she said.
“Fiona.” It was an anguished cry, but she recognized Devon’s voice. “Fiona, run.”
She snatched up her child and took a step toward the door, but something slid in front of it, blocking the light. A moment later, it shut with a thud.
The something took shape, a man’s shape. A blade gleamed in his hand. Confusion fogged her thinking. For a moment, she believed it was Devon, that he had lost his mind or been possessed like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Crackers’ growl became a snarl, then a warning bark, his teeth white in the dim light, and the man laughed. It wasn’t Devon’s laugh.
“You must be Fiona,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” His hand moved toward the wall and flipped a switch.
Light flooded the room, blinding her for a minute. She blinked. When her vision adjusted, she saw the man before her clearly for the first time. He was tall, but gaunt, with a tangle of dark hair surrounding a very pale face. The beginnings of a beard hid his chin. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Rico.”
Devon stumbled into the foyer, and Fiona winced. His face was wild with fear, and blood stained his jacket. “Dev, you’re hurt,” she said.
“It’s nothing. You need to leave. Take Caleb and leave.” His voice was a rasp.
Rico waved the knife like a teacher’s pointer. “Oh, I don’t think so. I think you’re both going to sit.” He pointed toward the couch.
Fiona hesitated.
Rico moved so fast she hardly registered the motion. A second, less, and he had Devon, the knife to his throat. Crackers lunged, snapped, then backed into Fiona’s legs, his ruff standing on end.
“Put your dog in the mud room first.” The man jutted his chin toward the kitchen.
Fiona grabbed Crackers’ collar and waited for the man to move out of her way.
“And don’t think about leaving. Your husband is a dead man if you do.”
Fiona hiked Caleb higher on her hip and tugged Crackers into the kitchen. Her gaze traversed the dirty linoleum floor, the laminate countertop and the outdated appliances, and came to rest on the door at the end of the room. She hurried to it. She set Caleb down, then squatted to hug Crackers. “I’ll get you. Don’t worry.” She whispered the words to the dog, knowing he couldn’t understand them. The promise was for herself.
After closing him in, she lifted Caleb and returned to the living room. Devon was on the floor near the fireplace. The man was bent over him. At first, she thought he was tending Devon’s wounds, but when he stood, she realized he’d been placing plastic ties around her husband’s wrists and ankles.
“He needs medical attention,” she said.
“Be my guest.”
She bolted to Devon’s side, dropped Caleb next to him, and stared into his eyes. “What happened?” His answer was a shake of his head.
She unzipped his jacket, unbuttoned the green flannel shirt she’d thought so comical only days ago, and lifted the thermal shirt beneath that. The gash was an angry red, but it wasn’t deep. Not nearly as bad as she’d imagined.
“I need my first aid kit,” she said.
“Fine,” the man said. He’d sunk onto the couch and was watching her. She moved to lift Caleb again, but he stopped her. “Leave him.”
Caleb whimpered. She smoothed his hair from his forehead and gazed into his eyes. “You watch Daddy for me. Okay?” His lower lip quivered, but he cuddled next to his father.
Fiona jogged out into the night, into the freedom of the navy-blue sky and stinging air. It would be so easy to run if she weren’t tethered to those she loved in the house. They anchored her to this place.
She popped the hatch of her car and rummaged around until she found the first aid kit Devon had bought for her when they’d purchased the Lexus. She’d laughed at him and said the bandages inside would be yellow before she used them. He’d spouted statistics about injuries and accidents.
The kit was still in its plastic wrap. She ripped at that as she walked to the house, dropping pieces of cellophane as she went. The man was blowing on a pile of kindling in the fireplace as she entered. Caleb had backed away from his father and pressed himself against the far wall. He gazed at Rico through terrified eyes. What had he seen with those gray-brown eyes?
Fiona dropped next to her husband and opened the kit. She swabbed the wound with antiseptic first, and Devon gasped. His face blanched, and a sheen of sweat erupted on his forehead and upper lip. He needed stitches, but that was something she didn’t know how to do.
After squeezing half a tube of antibiotic salve on the gap, she did her best to pull the skin together with butterfly bandages, then covered the whole thing with gauze and tape. When she was done, she pulled an afghan from a nearby chair over him and scooted next to her son.
“What is happening here? What do you want?” She kept her voice calm despite the racing emotions inside her.
“Just looking for a place to rest,” the man said.
“We have money.”
“I know you do. Your husband has very generously given me some of it.”
“We have more. I can go to the bank in town tomorrow, make a big withdrawal. You can take one of our cars and leave.”
Rico sighed. “I’d like nothing more, but I’m sure there are roadblocks on the 18 and the 38.”
She hadn’t seen one, but she hadn’t seen much. There were only two roads in and out of the mountain communities. Two roads that were easy to watch. Since her half-brother’s body had been found on a fire road off the 18, she assumed he was correct. “Why did you kill him?”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Who? Chuck?”
Fiona frowned. She didn’t know a Chuck. “My brother, why did you kill him?”
Rico gazed at the ceiling for a long moment. “It was a mercy killing,” he finally said. “Chuck had the virus.”
“I don’t know who Chuck is.”
“That’s right.” He turned his gaze on her and smiled. “That wasn’t his real name, but that’s what we called him. It was short for Three-Buck Chuck, you know, like the wine.”
Ah, it made sense. Trader Joe’s famous cheap wine. “He must have hated that.”
“He got used to it.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. This man had nothing against them, no vendetta, no animosity. He was simply a trapped animal who wanted freedom. If she could provide that freedom, perhaps he’d leave them in peace. What she needed now was a plan.
MOLLY: It seems like Fiona is relieved this man isn’t her half-brother. Hopefully, her relief won’t lead her to underestimating the danger she and her family are in. At this point, she doesn’t know what happened to Bob.
She states in this narrative that she understands Rico. She thinks if she can help him reach freedom, he’ll leave her and her family alone. But as we discussed on Facebook this week, he’s a loose cannon. He doesn’t look at the world the way most people do. This next diary excerpt is a perfect example of that.
7.4.4
DIARY
“I brought stuff to make pancakes,” Fiona said. She was a beautiful woman. I’d forgotten how beautiful real women could be. She didn’t have the plastic looks of the women on TV or the shiny looks of the women in the magazines. They weren’t people. They were bait put on hooks by men to trap other men. Fiona was real.
“Pancakes are good,” I said.
Even the boy perked up. He sat up straighter and ran a hand under his nose. “I like pancakes.”
“Want to help?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I’ll get the bags.” She stood, and the child stood with her. I could see the resemblance now. I’d thought he looked like a lighter version of his dark-skinned Daddy, but he had a lot of her in him—the eyes that changed from hazel to gray, the freckles that sprinkled his nose like stars in a night sky.
“You stay here,” I said to the boy. He dropped to the floor again, his brightness dimmed.
“I’ll be right back,” she assured him and left.
I wasn’t worried about her running. Her whole life was here, in my hands. She wouldn’t leave them behind.
A moment later, she returned, two grocery bags in her arms. I heard her drop them on the counter in the kitchen. Caleb’s eyes followed the sounds hungrily. He wanted his mother. I couldn’t blame him. I gave him a nod, and he scurried after her.
The father was sleeping—at least his eyes were closed and his breathing even. The attack with the shovel had been stupid on his part, but even stupider on mine. I was off my game. I’d blamed the virus, but it wasn’t a valid excuse. I should be more vigilant because I’m under the weather, not less. Devon almost got the better of me.
I shook my head at the memory. Devon, with the pot belly, the soft hands, and the inflated ego, almost got the better of me. If he hadn’t been wearing a green shirt, he’d have wound up in the hole alongside Bob. When I saw the color, I thought it might be a signal. You know, that he would bring me luck in the future. That I might need him for something else. The stars confirmed it.
I’d been too sure of myself. I hadn’t been taking my signals into consideration, not enough anyway. But I was listening now. Didn’t want to make that mistake again. It wasn’t the first time my ego had almost gotten me killed.
