On the verge of tears, she hung up the receiver. She had no one else to call, no where else to go for help.
So, she thought, driving home, she would have to rescue Antonio herself.
She went into the parlor and sat down on the sofa. Yawning, she glanced at the clock. It was only a little after eight. She would just close her eyes for a few minutes…
She was walking through the woods, the same dark wood she had seen in her dreams once before. She moaned softly, wanting to wake up, but she couldn't escape the dream. She frowned when she realized one thing had changed. The moon was no longer shining. Now the sun ruled the sky. But it was the same voice warning her not to enter the woods, a voiced she now recognized as Antonio's. Though she yearned to turn and flee, she was again compelled to continue on, and so she moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Deeper and deeper into the darkness that even the sun could not penetrate, until she saw the same small wooden cottage. As it had before, the door opened of its own volition. Once again, she hesitated at the threshold, knowing that if she crossed it, her life would be forever changed. And then she saw Antonio…
Vicki let out a scream when she saw Falco standing behind Antonio. There was no fireplace now, no flickering red and orange shadows on the walls. Instead, there was only blood. Antonio's blood, splattered on the floor and the walls. He cradled the same golden goblet between his hands. He held it out for her to see, and this time she looked inside. Bright red liquid swirled inside the cup. Horror rose from deep inside her. It wasn't his blood. It was hers. Eyes filled with anguish, he lifted the cup to his lips while Dimitri Falco's insane laughter rang out in the night.
Vicki woke with a scream on her lips. A glance at the clock showed it was almost noon.
Rising, she went downstairs. A cup of coffee and a couple of protein bars served as breakfast and lunch.
She glanced at the clock again. There were only five hours or so until dusk, and she had a lot to do before then.
Aware that the clock was ticking, Vicki gathered up several heavy blankets, grabbed her handbag and the keys to the Lexus, and headed for town again. Her first stop was a Catholic church. Hurrying inside, she filled an empty Coke bottle with holy water, murmured a quick prayer for forgiveness, and ran out of the church.
Her second stop was at a discount store, where she bought several yards of heavy black plastic sheeting, which she put in the trunk along with the blankets.
Her third stop was Naughton's Gun Shop. To her dismay, she learned that she couldn't just buy a gun and walk away. There were forms and papers to fill out, a waiting period.
She begged and pleaded, but the man behind the counter was adamant.
Discouraged, Vicki murmured her thanks and walked toward the exit. She had to have a gun. There was no way she could overcome Falco's brutes with her bare hands.
"Hey, lady."
She glanced over her shoulder. "Are you talking to me?"
A young man standing beside a glass case displaying knives nodded. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. Sounds like you're in trouble."
"You have no idea."
The man lowered his voice. "I've got a Glock out in my truck that I'd be willing to sell ya."
"A Glock?"
"A gun. You don't know much about guns, do you?"
"Not a thing. Is it a good one?"
"Oh, yeah. It's reliable, durable, lightweight, and easy to use. I think you'll like it."
"How much do you want for it?"
He glanced over his shoulder to where the proprietor stood watching them. "Let's go outside."
She hesitated only a moment, wondering if she dared trust him. He was tall and lanky, with long blond hair and a scraggly beard. He wore a cut-off T-shirt and baggy jeans.
His arms were covered with tattoos. But this was no time to be picky. He had a gun.
She needed a gun.
Taking a deep breath, she followed him outside and around the corner to where his truck was parked. Unlocking the passenger side door, he opened the glove box and pulled out a rather nasty-looking weapon.
"How much?" she asked.
"I'll let you have it for three-fifty." He cocked his head to one side. "You don't know how to use it, do you?"
"No."
"So, why do you want a gun?"
"I'm not selling my life story, I just want to buy a gun. Do you want to sell that or don't you?"
He chuckled. "All right, lady, have it your way."
"Will you take a check?"
"Ordinarily I wouldn't, but I think I can trust you."
She pulled her checkbook out of her handbag and quickly filled in the amount. "Who should I make it out to?"
"Randy."
"Just Randy?"
He nodded. "If you want, I can show you how to fire it." He handed her the weapon, then tucked her check into his pants pocket.
"That would be great."
"There's a vacant lot a couple of blocks from here. The old man from Naughton's lets his customers go there to try out his guns. Why don't you follow me over and I'll give you a couple of quick lessons?"
Again she hesitated. And then she nodded. She had never fired a gun in her life. A little instruction might keep her from shooting herself in the foot. "All right."
She was apprehensive about being alone with a strange man in a vacant lot, but as it turned out, they weren't alone. Four boys were tossing a football back and forth in the center of the lot when they arrived.
The boys stopped what they were doing when they saw her get out of the car with a gun in her hand.
"Looks like you're going to have an audience," Randy said, coming up behind her.
She was afraid he was right. The teenagers had gathered into a tight knot and now they stood a short distance away, watching her, a bunch of long-haired boys in faded jeans, T-shirts, and black leather jackets.
"Ignore them," Randy said. During the next forty minutes, he showed her how to hold the pistol, how to aim, how to fire. "Okay," he said, pointing at a battered target several yards away, "squeeze off a few."
Holding the pistol the way Randy had taught her, she squeezed the trigger. She had expected the noise to be much louder, but it was nothing like in the movies. In reality, gunfire sounded more like a loud pop or a car backfiring than a big explosive bang.
"All right," Randy muttered. "This time try it with your eyes open."
He worked with her until she managed to hit the target three times out of seven. "Keep practicing," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "I think you're getting the hang of it."