lot staring at the window to Delcie’s room. He’d sneaked out of the house and would sit until near daybreak watching the window, the shotgun across his lap.
Gasoline
Tanner rode in the bright sun, steering his rumbling truck down the county road. He kept replaying the fantasy in his head. He saw himself pulling up to the house, cutting the engine early, coasting up noiselessly. He’d jump out quickly, not waiting to see if anything or anyone was there, and quickly splash the side of the house with gas. The wood, baked dry from many Wisconsin high summer suns, would catch quickly. Flames would leap up as he drove away. By the time he hit the county road again it would be totally engulfed in flames. He feared getting caught after watching many TV shows in which accelerant was detected by high tech crime scene investigators, but he knew nothing like that existed around here. Just a dry old summerhouse caught on fire. Bad wiring, maybe.
Then he came to his senses. No matter how angry or secretly afraid he was, he knew he couldn’t do this. Arson was not in his makeup, and he knew it. He pounded the heel of his palm on the steering wheel. On an impulse, he turned the truck around, pointing it back to the blacktop turnoff that led to his uncle’s house. In times of crisis, that’s where he’d always gone. Jay would know what to do, but first he had to convince him that something needed to be done.
Tanner braked his old truck, turned it and headed in the direction of Jay’s place.
Jen at home
She tried Tanner’s cell phone again. He kept it on all the time, but sometimes he couldn’t hear it ring over the sound of his truck. ‘He’s probably driving somewhere’, she thought. He usually notices when she tries to call and calls her back pretty quickly. She’d tried twice about 10 minutes apart. Maybe he’s busy, she thought.
Jen was sitting on the deck sunning her back. She let her mind drift to Tanner, then Delcie in the hospital, then to the boy. Her mind wanted to “bounce off” this last topic, roosting only long enough to register in her consciousness, but then to take flight almost instantly to something less frightening. This time, though, she forced herself to stay on it. She felt action needed to be taken, but had no idea what to do. On a gut level, she felt that the best defense would be a good offense here, but she didn’t think that going back to the lake house without a concrete plan was any kind of idea. She thought of books, movies she’d read and seen. Did they need an exorcism? A ghost buster? This seemed so preposterous, here sitting in the full high Wisconsin summer sun watching skiers and fisherman glide across the lake, their whining motors ringing in the distance, silver images streaming across the glassy green blue surface. She couldn’t see the house from here. That side of the lake, distant, seemed to be made of nothing but impenetrable forest. It was just as well that she couldn’t. She had a hard enough time blocking the sight of it out of her head without having to see it there each time she walked down to the dock. Then she remembered how hard it was to see even when they’d been within a few hundred yards that day in Tanner’s boat. Like it was hiding, or camouflaged. “Hiding from what?” she thought. It’s past – a dark past of long since forgotten murder – was hidden well enough by the passing of time. It hid from the sun, she thought. Hid from the light. The darkness was its power. These words came almost fully formed to her mind. If this were a lake surrounded by deciduous trees shedding their leaves each fall, it would be detectable in winter; A dark rectangular box jutting out among tree trunks. But the evergreens kept their secret well hidden even in winter. She imagined snowfall even increased the hidden nature of the house, and could almost see it capped with a white frosting.
When would the next challenge come? Her rational mind told her that it had all been some kind of freakish coincidence with some as yet undiscovered but rational explanation. There could therefore be no more threat. But part of her, a little quiet voice back in her head said otherwise. She felt a chill and goose bumps raised on her tanned skin as a light breeze blew across her arm. She felt suddenly very small and weak. A cloud passed over the sun for a few seconds, casting a midday gloom that seemed to mirror her thoughts. She thought of Tanner again and re-dialed. No answer. She wasn’t alarmed. At least not yet.
Jen rose and walked to the end of the dock, gazing out over the nearly flat water of the lake. Her cell phone brought her out of her reverie signaling an incoming text message. It was from Tanner. One word…
HELP
Tanner captive
Tanner’s head throbbed when he came to. If he moved his eyes in his head too far to either side, pain seared through his skull. He could barely move his head from side to side.
Slowly, the memory returned. He’d parked his truck near his uncle’s garage, walked to the house, heard a noise behind him, tried to turn, then nothing. A loud thud seemed to overtake his entire consciousness, followed by absolute blackness. Then he was here, now. He looked down and saw the ropes around his ankles. His heart started beating faster which caused the pain in his head to magnify to the point where he couldn’t repress a moan. But he didn’t want to make sound. He knew somehow that he had to be quiet, but not why.
The room was dark, or nearly so. The long rays of the sun, diffuse from the deep pines outside showed little but shadow. Still, the rays entering through the holes in the roof slanted at a telling angle. Full dark was coming quickly.
The ropes bit into his ankles. He wasn’t going anywhere. His heart raced again. His head pounded. He felt the back of his head and found a huge bump, but no blood. He was bent in the corner, wedged between the walls, nearly falling over. The struggle to right himself brought nearly blinding pain and tears to his eyes, but he had to get up, He had to do something to protect himself. Bringing himself to a sitting position took a monumental effort – his head nearly burst with a throbbing pain - but once up, he felt better able to defend himself. His eyes swept the room, then the view out the window as best he could. He groped his pockets for his cell phone. Finding it, but not able to get the phone near his head to speak, he instead texted message to Jen for help. He was able only to type in “help” before the door opened slowly, grating on its rusted hinges. A dark form filled the doorway. He pressed Send and moaned, feeling his eyes fill with tears.
Jen to the Rescue
Jen didn’t even ask for the keys to the car. She was on the county road going as fast as she dared before it even occurred to her to ask. Her heart raced as she negotiated the tight turns, tires squealing. She felt the adrenaline rush through her like a fast wind. She choked back the fear as she slowed, seeing the entrance to the fire road ahead. The gate stood open. For some reason this troubled her almost as much as the frantic call. Who was here? Maybe just state workers doing maintenance. Maybe. Maybe someone else. Maybe she was expected. Or, had Tanner opened it? The car became hushed as the roadbed turned to pine needles, and her heart went to her throat as she got close to the house. Tears streamed down her face. She had tried several times to call Tanner after receiving the text message, but no answer. This was bad. Almost as bad as the message itself. She was furious and terrified in equal parts, and she felt tears slip down her cheeks. He must have come here, alone. This made her furious and terrified in equal parts.
The house, as it had done before, sprang suddenly out of the pines. It always seemed as if it were laying in wait, to spring out suddenly; to shock. She cut the motor and sat for a moment looking at the silent, still house. She considered things briefly, then decided stealth was called for. Starting the engine, she pulled past the cabin, farther down the road, as if she had intended to drive by. Finding a thin spot in the undergrowth out of sight of the cabin, she pulled the car in far enough so as not to be seen either from the road or the cabin, and cut the engine, listening for a moment to the silence around her. Easing out of the car, her eyes flashed around for any movement in the trees. Sensing none, she approached the house slowly, quietly. She felt nauseous, and was shaking, and the low, dull headache returned.
Once the cabin was in view, her eyes shot from windo
w to window, looking for movement, then to the door, which stood almost closed, but not quite. She scanned the trees for signs of the dog things, but saw nothing. Rather than let her fear back her out of the situation, she unthinkingly thrust herself towards the door, hoping perhaps that violently opening the door would perhaps take whoever was imperiling Tanner by surprise. But the surprise was hers as she rushed into the main downstairs room.
The building was entirely empty.
The Dead Man’s Hand
Roy sat back in the chair pulling deeply on his Swisher Sweet. His wife would not allow him to smoke in the house, so the cabin was about the only place he could go.
“If you’re going to smoke cigars, get some better shit than that, would you, for chrissake?!” a dark skinned, thin man, prematurely wrinkled glared at him, cigarette pursed in his lips.
Lightning ripped outside cracking the air with painful slaps. Rain punished the cheap windows of the cabin.
“I thought we had this goddam place dried in!” Roy shouted over his shoulder.
“It is, dammit! This is blowing in under the shingles! I didn’t build the place to weather a goddamn hurricane!” a third man shouted over the