Chapter Nine
The Storm
“Stay on the line. The police are on their way,” the operator said.
“How long?” Rachel asked.
“ETA. Six minutes.” The operated replied.
Holding the phone to her shoulder, Rachel turned to Brett. “If they get through that door, we’re dead.”
“What have you gotten us into, Rachel?” Brett withdrew the baseball bat from beneath the bed and tightened his hands around its grip. In the darkness, Rachel could only see his silhouette and ready club.
“We can’t fight later.” Rachel slid the knife into her belt. She clicked open the metal latches the window and heaved it upward. Wind and rain bombarded her. Water puddled at her feet and leaked through the floorboards.
“Go first,” Brett said, standing by the door’s flank.
Rachel nodded and climbed outside. The shingled incline took her by surprise. She caught the window frame to prevent from slipping off. The storm pulled at her, stronger than the persistent pulling of the Sense. She found grip on the house’s walls and made way for Brett who rushed the window.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Three gunshots blew through the metal door lock. Wide-eyed, Brett turned to Rachel. “Sorry.”
He grabbed ahold of the window and slammed it down, separating Brett and Rachel by the pane of glass. A boot kicked in the bedroom door. One of the gunman, a tall fellow donned in black and wearing a ski-mask and rain poncho, stood in its threshold.
Rachel pressed her back against the outer wall. She could her husband’s muffled voice as tears and rain raced down her face.
Brett dropped the baseball bat and back up to the window. “Listen, man. Whatever you think is going on, it’s just a big misunderstanding, alright? Put down the gun and let’s talk about this.”
Bang!
Blood splattered the inner window. Something heavy thumped inside. Rachel covered her mouth. Her hand trembled. She heard Brett’s muffled cries through the wall.
“Where is she?” The tall masked man asked.
“Screw you!” Brett yelled over his pain.
The window pulled open. Gun at the ready, the masked man peered outside. Raindrops snaked down his disposable poncho. He pointed the gun at the left ledge and the right and then down to the backyard. The tire swing danced violently in the wind, constantly wrapping and unwrapping its old rope.
“You run away and your husband dies,” the gunman yelled out into the darkness. He pulled his head back inside.
Rachel took a breath, she peered around the corner of the building and at the window. Rain blew into the house. The nearby shutters rattled. Rachel lowered herself to her bottom and slid down the roof, landing in the front yard with an “Oof!” Dirt stained her knees. She pushed herself up.
She stared at the Escalade and long road ahead. Trees waved. She twisted back, seeing the blooded Barnes family watching her from the porch. Despite the rain splashing the wall behind, they remained completely dry, barring their rose-shaped bullet holes that endless leaked blood down their pale bodies.
Rachel jogged to them. They glared at her from over porch’s railing. “Help me,” Rachel begged.
The front door flung open from an unseen force. Rachel’s face sunk into pure horror. She staggered back. “You just gave me away.”
The Orphan’s looked at her expectantly.
A black handgun poked out the door frame followed by the shorter, stouter gunman. The wet and wooden porch creaked beneath his black tennis shoes. He exited to the porch, aiming his gun at the Barnes family but not seeing them. He walked across the porch, passing through Reginald Barnes and peering around the elbow of the porch. He turned back.
Rachel held her breath. The rain lashed at her. Her body trembled from free and cold. She heard the gunmen near. She pushed her back deeper into the pocket where steps and porch formed a corner.
The gunman marched across the porch, stopping right above Rachel’s head. Silently, she drew the kitchen knife from her belt and hid its glint in the muddy dirt.
Amanda and Benny Barnes bolted behind the Escalade and parked sedan. The gunman didn’t see them but he responded to their laughter. He cursed and marched down the steps, keeping the gun aimed at the road. Rachel, beside him, covered her mouth with her muddy hand, leaving a print on her face that the rain soon washed away. Her eyes found the back of the intruder’s ankle. She thought of Brett bleeding out upstairs and raised the knife.
The gunman scanned the driveway with his gun. He checked his watch. “Three minutes,” he mumbled.
Reminding herself of her disturbing art, Rachel extended knife through the handrail posts and braced herself for the gore. The muddy edge slashed across the back of the man’s ankle. The flesh opened like a filet of red meat. The man howled and tumbled forward, splashing into the mud. His gun discharged into the tree line. He rolled to his side and opened fire at Rachel. She dashed around the corner of the building, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectiles.
Without stopping, she ran around the back of the building, passed the busted power box and enter through the backdoor.
“We got to go!” The injured gunman yelled over the storm. “The police! They’re coming!”
Drenched, Rachel tiptoed inside. Tears of rain zipped down the point of her blade and to her white knuckles. Black bangs stringed down over her face and strong jaw. Her vision honed. She hunched behind the kitchen island and peered over the granite top. Seeing the coast was clear, she passed into the living room. Rain water soaked the couch from the broken window. Outside, the injured gunman crawled on his belly to his car, his right leg dead with pain.
Rachel ducked lowly beneath the window. Broken glass crunched beneath her feet. She darted by open front door and stole a peek outside. The gunman didn’t see her. She stared up the ominous stairs. One step at a time, she ascended into the dark, second-story loft. Heart raging, she turned into the upstairs hallway. Lightning struck outside, illuminating the silhouette of Brett curled up on the floor clutching his bleeding shoulder. Bait. Rachel knew.
Amanda Barnes stepped out of one of bedrooms and into another. Her cobalt blue dress tarnished by bullet holes. Rachel moved to the bathroom and then to the one of the children’s bedroom, opposite of the one where Amanda wandered into.
The tall gunman stepped around Brett and into the hall. His walk was silent. His demeanor, calm. “You know I’m not bluffing,” the man said into the quiet house. “I will kill him if you don’t reveal yourself.”
The wardrobe door closed with a click. The gunman followed the sound and stepped into the kid’s room. He faced the old wardrobe and moved his finger on the trigger. Rachel watched through a creak in the door.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Gunshots burrowed through the wardrobe’s face. The gunman rushed to its front pulled open the door. Old blazers. A faded bloodstain. Nothing at all. Holding a chair in hand, Rachel rushed across hall from the opposite bedroom and shut door behind him. She jammed the chair under the doorknob. Bullets blew through wood. Rachel went prone. The thump of the man’s kick shook the door but the chair held.
Rachel turned both ways in the hall. Chubby Benny and cute Amanda stood in the hall, holding hands. They smiled at Rachel. Rachel repaid in kind but, only for a second before she running to her husband.
The trapped gunman slammed into the door repeatedly.
The chair leg grinded against the floor.
Rachel slid on her knees next to Brett. He held the wound. A steady red flow seep through the gaps of his fingers.
Rachel cradled his head. “Brett? Oh, please. Don’t do this to me.”
Grimacing, Brett looked her in the eyes. “Rachel… I see them.”
Rachel twisted back. Reginald and Lilith loomed over her. The couples face as intense as ever.
“Come on,” She slung Brett’s arm around her shoulder and stood. Brett grunted through his clenched teeth and gained his footing. Limping,
they moved passed the chair and thumping door, and waddled down the stairs.
Headlights slashed through the busted window and onto Rachel and Brett. The gunman’s car kicked mud and reversed out of the driveway. In the distance, red and blue lights flashed behind skeletal oaks and torrents of rain. The gunman’s car skidded backwards and slammed into a tree.
Siren blaring and lights flashing, a squad car sped into view. The gunman’s car screamed forward and smashed into the police cruiser. Muzzle flashes blipped inside of the gunman’s car and spider webbed at the police cruiser’s windshield.
Three more squad cars arrived on the scene. One smacked into the sedan’s bumper, spinning the car one hundred degrees while the other cars surrounded it. The sedan’s door opened and the gunman stepped out, arms raised high and ankle spilling blood onto the asphalt. The office exited their vehicle and trained their guns on him.
“On the ground! Hands where I can see them!”
The gunman obeyed and was swiftly handcuffed.
“Hear that?” Rachel asked Brett.
Brett shook his head.
“No more thumping.” Rachel looked to ceiling. She set Brett on the soaked couch. “Get help.”
“What?” he said weakly.
Rachel ran out the backdoor, seeing the opened bedroom window above. She scanned the backyard and wild tire swing. A soft pulling directed her to the woods. Everything inside wanted her to run back to Brett, but Rachel kept the knife close and vanished into the tree line.
She dredged through wet leaves and prickly bushes, following the Sense to lead her in the darkness. It tugging feeling grew fiercer with every step in the right direction until she came across a series of boulders jutting from rigid earth. Beyond was a cliff. Rachel found cover behind of the drenched rocks, pressing herself against its cold stone face and using the rain to mask her footsteps. A gunshot rang out, chipping off a small chuck of the large rock.
Rachel stayed low and moved closer. In the cold rain, her teeth chattered and knife felt slippery in her hand. She got to her belly and snaked through the dirt and leaves. Mud sloshed up her elbows and into the neck of shirt. Ducking behind one of the boulders, the mask gunman aimed his gun at the rock Rachel had come from. Slowly and steadily, she crawled up behind him. With every crunched twig, she thought it would be her demise. With every hastily breath, she thought she’d be made. But the storm muted her advancement. In the longest forty seconds of her life, she flanked the gunman, remembering the dead children. There was no mercy shown to them. Rising from the earth, Rachel held the knife up high and pressed it against the gunman’s throat. His posture stiffened and a red tear trickled into his turtleneck.
“Hand me the gun or I open your throat.”
Rachel began cutting until the weight of the pistol was her hand. She released the man and aimed the gun at him. The gunman staggered forward, his fingers on the slice portion of his neck.
“Mask off,” Rachel commanded. Her finger resting on the trigger. She’d never held a gun before, and something about the power to take life so easy frightened her.
Grumbling, the gunman peeled away his ski-mask and let it fall to a black heap on the drenched earth. Allen Umber turned to Rachel. Water leaked from the man’s beard. “Satisfied?”
The pistol trembling in Rachel’s slippery hands. “Was it worth it?
“Barnes would’ve killed this town.” Umber replied. “Though a little intimidation, I saved a lot of people’s livelihoods. My father’s legacy. My legacy.”
Rachel felt disgusted. “You killed those kids for nothing. It least now they’ll have some fucking rest.”
Umber frowned. Rachel gestured for him to turn around. At gunpoint, Umber entered the backyard as the police swarmed in. Rachel shoved Umber to them and surrendered the gun. Officer Matthew Lynchfield clicked on the cuffs to their tightest setting and quoted Umber’s rights.
The Barnes family watched from the second story bedroom window. Amanda put her tiny hand on the window’s glass. Benny smiled widely, his chubby cheeks and marker whiskers moving at the motion. Lilith, with her permed hair and upright posture, mouthed “thank you” while Reginald acknowledged her with a curt nod. A moment later, they vanish. Only the dark window remained. Suddenly, the Senses subsided and Rachel felt the rain washing away the stress. For the first time since she moved to Highlands, she was free. Truly free.
Rachel’s legs hung over one arm of a hospital’s chair while her back rested on the other. She nibbled the top of her pencil thinking about the best way to complete her latest sketch. Should the bearded man be smiling or somber? Bloody or clear? It wasn’t an easy decision. The TV mounted in the corner of the room switched from a football game to the local news. A few passing nurses halted in front of the screen and gawked.
The anchor spoke into the camera. “With Ian Linx’s audio transcripts, the Highland Police have linked Allen Umber and David Winsler to the 1983 murders of Reginald, Lilith, Amanda and Benny Barnes. The courts ruled that both gunmen will each serves five consecutive life sentences on top of two accounts of attempted murder and one account of assault and battery. For further developments, stay tuned.”
“Good work,” a familiar voice said nearby.
Rachel looked up from her sketch pad and at Detective Jenson Peak. “Just trusting my gut. What are you doing here?” Rachel asked.
“I thought I’d admit I was wrong,” Peak replied. “The killers didn’t get away.”
Rachel smiled to herself.
Peak finished out a business card and handed to Rachel. “We aren’t blind to your contribution in this case. Think about a career change.”
Before Rachel could reply, a nursed stepped in. “Brett’s ready.”
Rachel adjusted her legs to the proper position and stood up. “I have to get going.”
“Of course,” Peak said and they want their separate ways.
Rachel found Brett seated at the corner of the bed. She embraced him with a hug. He grimaced. Rachel pulled away, studying the bandage on his shoulder.
“Through and through.” Brett explained. “They said I was lucky. I don’t feel like it.”
“It’s over now,” Rachel reassured him.
Brett searched for the right words. He spoke. “Are they gone? The…”
“Orphans?” Rachel finished. “Yes. They’re gone.”
Brett leaned back. “Thank God. I’m sorry about… everything. For thinking you were…”
Rachel took his hand. She pushed close to him. “Don’t be. I’d think I’m crazy, too.”
“Let’s be glad life is going back to normal.”
Rachel pursed her lips.
They walked to the Escalade, and Rachel assisted Brett into the passenger seat. Rachel took the driver and turned the ignition. In gorgeous fall afternoon, she coasted through town of Highlands, North Carolina. From the sidewalk, pedestrians watched her drive. An old man with fractured skull, a teenage with a black tire mark across his midsection, and a middle-aged woman with two slashed wrists. Dozens of the dead. They walked among the living, lost and alone like orphans. Rachel felt their desperate gaze on her, silently begging her for a home. She was their only salvation.
That evening, long after Brett had fallen asleep, Rachel set aside her sketch pad and popped open her laptop. She winced at the screens bright light and she typed the web address on Detective Peak’s card. The mouse cursor lingered the word, “Apply.” She turned Brett, listening to his soft snores.
Rachel’s finger clicked the track pad and started her new life.
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