“So the answer to everything is to kill people.”
“We gotta defend ourselves! You’re just being a damn liberal if you don’t see that. Aubrey understood.”
“Then why did you kill her?”
He came closer to the open door. He was hopelessly soaked now. She saw that the torrent had abated to a slow but steady pelting of drops. “We did not kill her. He did, your boyfriend Bobo.”
“He did not,” she said again. “He grieves for her every day. He had no idea when we set out on that picnic that we would find her body. I was there. I know.”
This time he did slap her, an openhanded smack to the cheek. “You’re wrong, bitch. You are so wrong, and he is so guilty. I liked you better when you weren’t talking. Shut up, now, or I’ll tap you on the head with the gun,” he said, as he climbed into the truck.
That was an effective threat, because Fiji had recently read an article about how thin the skull could be. It had creeped her out. She was terrified that his “tap” could put her in a wheelchair for life. She had no idea if she had a thick skull or a thin skull, and she didn’t want to bet on it one way or another.
He managed to get the truck back on the road after some maneuvering. She’d hoped the tires were stuck, but no such luck. They resumed their rain-drenched trek to Marthasville . . . or wherever they were going.
“How’d you set my foot on fire?” he said suddenly.
Uh-oh. She said immediately, “That’s ridiculous. I got no matches and I’m handcuffed.”
“Midnight’s got a reputation for funny people,” he said. “I think you’re one of the funny ones.”
“Funny ha-ha, right?” she said.
“Funny crazy,” he replied. She shut her mouth. But her curiosity couldn’t let her keep quiet forever.
“Where are we going?” she asked, after an interval.
“To a place your buddies will never find. A place behind my parents’ house.” He laughed. “My mom and dad ain’t been in it in ten years.”
“A bomb shelter?” she asked.
“Hey, how’d you know?” He was immediately suspicious and indignant.
I figured it out, idiot. “Not too many basements in Texas, so I figured it was a separate building. Marthasville isn’t on a lake, so it couldn’t be a boathouse.”
She could almost feel his suspicious eyes dart over her vulnerable skull. She held her breath until the moment had passed when he would have hit her.
She prayed to the Goddess and her consort to get her through this mess alive, and she prayed her friends were looking for her now . . . if the damn lazy cat had done his job.
“Did you see my cat?”
“What?” She’d definitely surprised him with that one.
“My cat. Did you see my cat in the store? Did you shut the door?”
Her heart was sinking as she realized that Mr. Snuggly might be stuck in the shop with no way to get out. “No opposable thumbs,” he always said, smug as a cat could be, when she asked him to do something the least bit difficult.
“I don’t know,” Price Eggleston said with massive irritation. “You worried about your kitty? You should be worried about yourself. Your own pu**y!” he said, proud of his own wit.
She had to admit she was more than a little worried about every part of herself. She wanted her friends to come after her, and she had no doubt that they would . . . if they knew she was in trouble. But that was far from certain. And Eggleston had a gun. If anyone (and anyone meant Bobo) was hurt in rescuing her, she would feel terrible forever. “Save me, save me!” had morphed into “Help me . . . without getting hurt.”
Far too soon to suit Fiji, Eggleston slowed down for the first traffic light on the outskirts of Marthasville. Fiji saw the well-lit parking lot of the Cartoon Saloon shining through the downpour. She spared a thought for the handsome bouncer, who had never called her. After another light, the truck turned right. They were still not in the town, but Fiji realized they were in an older and affluent suburb. The trees were all well grown and the houses set back from the road. After they’d driven past three homes, Eggleston turned right into a driveway that seemed very long but was probably only a quarter of a mile. The truck stopped. Her captor got out and came around to pull her out of her side.
“Now, you shut up. Don’t make a sound.”
It was a huge mistake for him to tell her this, because it implied that whoever heard her would want to help her. It was also a huge mistake on his part to think his threat would be enough to silence her. She drew in a huge breath and then let it out in one ear-ripping scream. And she made it a word, so none of the people she imagined might hear her could write it off as an owl or a train or anything but a human. “Heeeeeelp me!” she shrieked.
The rain stopped.
After a second’s shock, he backhanded her, but she drew in another breath, keeping her feet with some difficulty, and she yelled, “Help! Help!” She fell.
Lights came on maybe ten yards from where the truck was parked, and there were sounds, and then a man dashed out the back door, a thin man, with a rifle in his hands. In his other hand he held a big flashlight, and he shone it on Fiji, now sprawled on the wet ground, and her captor, who was bending over her with his fist raised.
“Price! What the hell you doing!” the man barked. She could tell he was older by his voice and the way he walked.
And she heard a woman’s voice, too, calling, “Bart? Who is it?”
“Mamie, it’s Price, and he’s hit some woman.” The older man shone the light directly in Price’s face. “Son, this is low, even for you.” He drew closer.
“Here, young lady, let me help you up.” The new arrival bent over to assist Fiji, who felt ridiculously embarrassed to have a man of his age helping her. She felt the reflex of shame that she was a round woman and not a skinny one, and therefore harder to get off the ground. But Bart Eggleston was stronger than he seemed, and soon she was on her feet, mud and grass plastered to her clothes, her hair soaking wet. And still handcuffed.
Price Eggleston was ominously silent while this was going on. Fiji had not known him long, and she’d evaluated him as being not too bright. But he’d been leading a pack of men, and she should have factored that in, she realized.
He said, “Mom, Dad, this doesn’t concern you. This woman is not a Christian and she doesn’t support our cause. There are certain things I have to do that I’m not proud of, and this is one of them.”