Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(65)
For a split second everything became hazy. He dropped to his knees, pulled the lid off, and saw that it was empty.
His heart drummed fast and hard against his chest. He looked around until his attention fell on handprints in the dirt path ahead. He followed the trail until he came to the fence, where the handprints disappeared. The grassy field had been flattened in certain areas, making it easy to follow her past the hole he’d dug and through the other side of the fence. The thick clods of hard dirt in his neighbor’s field made it difficult to walk fast. His neighbors rarely visited these days. They had moved to Europe years ago, leaving acres of unused land.
Ten minutes later he looked around, wondering which way Erin had gone. Had she stopped at the neighbors’ farmhouse or slept inside their barn? She would have wanted to find shelter and food, he thought. But more than that, she would have sought help.
He headed for the farmhouse. And as he marched angrily across the field, his thoughts returned to Zee. This was her fault. If she hadn’t come, he would never have forgotten about the girl in the box. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. His body tensed. If he didn’t find Erin, he would kill Natalie and Zee and bury their bodies together in the hole he’d already dug. He could move and start over or—
A sound in the distance caught his attention. The sun had yet to rise, but it wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see. Behind him, to his left, he saw the barn door creaking open. He raced to the nearest tree and climbed until he knew there was no way anyone would see him.
Had the neighbors returned from Europe, after all?
No. They had not. It was Erin. She’d fashioned a gunnysack into clothes. And she had a noticeable limp. He watched her look around, the whites of her eyes visible as she headed cautiously toward the house. When she reached the door, she knocked, waited, then went to the hose and drank her fill of water. She then turned and looked his way.
He remained still. Hardly breathed. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she had spotted him, but then why would she be headed in his direction if she knew he was there?
He nearly laughed out loud when he realized she’d climbed an apple tree. The poor girl was hungry. As he watched her approach, he admired her gumption. The will to live was strong in most humans. But there were some, like Garrett’s wife, who caved quickly and would rather die than fight to survive. Those sorts of people were wearisome. The sort of people he would never understand. If he could live through it, so could they.
He watched Erin look up into the higher branches. His pulse quickened at the thought of her seeing him. But she merely reached up and grabbed an apple from a low branch. She pulled hard until the apple came free, and the branch snapped back into place.
She gathered more apples, scooping them into the hem of her gunnysack dress before walking off.
He waited a few minutes before dropping to the ground and gathering a few apples of his own. Standing in the direct line of his intended target, he wound his arm and let the first apple fly. The fruit smacked her in the back of the head and caused her to topple over. It was no use; he couldn’t hold back the laughter another second.
She looked behind her.
The expression on her face when she saw him was priceless. Apples forgotten, she pushed herself to her feet and ran, dragging her bad leg along.
He continued toward her at a slow pace, throwing the fruit at her, laughing each time he hit his mark. The next time she fell, he thought she might be dead since he couldn’t see any sign of movement. But on closer examination, he found her on her back, eyes wide-open, the gunnysack rising and falling with every breath.
“You never should have run.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Come on,” he said, leaning forward. “Back to the box you go.”
Before he could grab her by the hair, her arm slid out from behind her, and she swung hard, hitting him with such force and speed he never saw it coming.
Grimacing, he staggered backward and fell to the dirt. He’d been struck in the arm with a bale hook made of steel. For a second he simply sat there in disbelief. And then he rolled his neck back and forth, taking it all in, enjoying the fiery pain as his arm pulsed and throbbed. It had been so long since he’d been tortured, he’d forgotten what physical pain felt like. It was intense. Indescribable. Awesome.
As much as he was enjoying himself, he knew he couldn’t sit there forever. Afraid he might bleed out if he removed the hook, he left it in his arm and pushed himself to his feet. Anger overrode all else. “Stupid, stupid, girl,” he said as he followed her along, laughing every time she tripped and fell. It didn’t take him long to catch up to her.
“You’re a monster,” she said, arms flailing as she tried to run faster.
“Sticks and stones,” he said before he kicked her in the back of the knee, sending her flat to the ground. He bent over, used his good arm to grab a fistful of hair, and began to drag her toward home.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
“Because I can.”
THIRTY-SIX
Jessie walked Ben Morrison outside to his car just as Colin was crossing the street. She made quick introductions. “Colin Grayson, homicide detective with the Sacramento Police Department, I’d like you to meet Ben Morrison, crime reporter with the Sacramento Tribune.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Colin said, “but I don’t believe we’ve ever met in person.”