Fear Thy Neighbor (65)

He nodded, motioning for her to follow him. Halfway down the steps, they heard a second scream. “That’s human,” Ali whispered.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“No, I’m going with you.”

“Let’s wait a minute,” he whispered.

Another scream sounded; then they raced down the steps to the beach. “Sounds like one of those screaming birds, a limpkin.” They were rare birds in Florida, but she’d heard their screams a few times.

“Probably a domestic dispute,” he said.

Ali tried to recall if she’d seen any occupants in the neighboring beach houses. “I haven’t seen anyone, though that doesn’t mean anything.”

He took her hand. “Let’s walk the beach and see if we can locate where the screams are coming from.”

They retraced their steps from their last excursion. As soon as they were at the curve of beach leading to the marina and bait shop, there was another scream; only this time, it was much louder.

“We’re close,” Kit said, taking her hand. “Let’s wait a minute more.”

Ali nodded.

A few seconds later, they heard another scream, though this one was followed by the cry: “Help me!”





Chapter Fifteen


“Run,” Kit shouted over his shoulder as he raced toward the bait shop. Alison’s side pinched as she tried keeping up with him. When he reached the bait shop, he stopped, motioning for her to stay where she was.

They waited for what seemed like forever, but whoever was screaming had either got away or the unthinkable might’ve happened. “Should we go inside?”

“I’ll get in the same as before, only stay put this time, just in case,” he said as they quietly walked to the back of the bait shop. The items Kit tossed off the air conditioner were exactly as they’d left them. The only thing missing was the shovel.

“This is not looking good,” he said.

“No,” Alison agreed, wishing she’d brought her gun.

“Watch my back while I go inside.” He told her as if this was something they’d done a zillion times before. She liked that he trusted her enough to ask.

“I will,” she promised. This night reminded her of the times she’d spent throughout her life constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering if she could’ve done anything different. If so, would she have lived to tell what happened all those years ago?

*

Crouching down on the floorboards of the bus when they made another stop, Alison waited for him to come for her. Her lady friend said she’d tell her if she saw him again, but Alison knew it didn’t matter. His loud, overbearing voice could be heard blocks away. Another fact she knew from experience.

The bus driver pulled the handle to open the door, allowing new passengers to board and others to leave. They were in Cincinnati and had a two-hour stop. Alison hadn’t planned on leaving the safety of the bus while they waited for their next driver.

“I don’t see him, dear,” her friend told her.

Alison pushed herself up, flinched when she banged her injured arm on the back of the seat in front of her. Tears filled her eyes. The pills she’d bought didn’t seem to be working anymore. She’d taken four of them about twenty minutes ago and felt no relief.

When she was able, she turned to the sweet woman. “Are the buses always on time?” she asked.

“Honestly, no, they’re never on time. I’ve waited in the city for five or six hours before. Not sure why, but Cincinnati is always the worst and longest stop.”

Knowing she needed medical attention, Alison thought this might be the stop where she could find a hospital. But because she was alone, underage, and practically broke, she didn’t know if the hospital would treat her. Plus, he could be lurking right around the corner. He was sneaky that way. “Can I ask a favor?” She looked at the sweet lady, tears filling her eyes. She rubbed them away with her good hand. “My arm is broken, and I need to see a doctor.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“Really? You’ll help me?”

“We can catch a cab and head to Good Samaritan Hospital. They have an emergency room. Let’s go before . . .” She paused. “Before we can’t.”

Alison knew exactly what she meant. She nodded.

“What’s your name?” the woman asked Alison.

Debating whether she should give her real name in case the Robertsons were looking for her, she decided to be as truthful as possible. This woman was helping her, and she owed it to her to be honest. “I’m Alison Marshall.”

“Nice to meet you, Alison Marshall. I’m Violet Danbridge.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she told her.

As soon as they stepped off the bus, Alison saw a line of taxis. Violet waved her hand, and a yellow cab pulled up to the curb. “We need to get to Good Samaritan Hospital as fast as you can get us there. My granddaughter broke her arm at the last stop.” Violet winked at her.

Alison liked this lady.

“I’ll put the pedal to the metal, but if I get a ticket, you gotta promise me you’ll pay for it,” the cabbie teased. Around sixty or so, bald, and with big ears and a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head, he seemed genuinely nice.