Sunset Beach(115)

53


August 20, 1976

Colleen was momentarily paralyzed with fear. The barrel of the revolver was pointed directly at her. She glanced around, frantic for help. A homeless man was slumped over on a nearby bus bench, the pages of a newspaper ruffling gently in the faint breeze while pigeons pecked at potato chips from a spilled bag. A pair of elderly women occupied the next green bench over, their heads bent together, deep in conversation.

She should scream. Or run. Or both. But her feet were rooted to the pavement, her mouth bone dry.

“I said, get in the goddamn car.” The driver reached over and wrenched the door handle open. “Now! Or I swear to God, I’ll kill you right here.”

Colleen obeyed, setting the train case on the floorboards by her feet. With the gun lowered, she could concentrate on the woman’s face, and she gasped involuntarily. The driver was Sherri Campbell. Brice’s wife.

“Put your hands out in front of you,” the woman ordered. Colleen did, and a moment later a pair of handcuffs were snapped across her wrists.

“Why are you doing this?” Colleen’s voice was hoarse.

The light changed and the car began moving, picking up speed. “Shut up,” Sherri replied. “I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

Colleen studied her captor’s face. The features were regular, but contorted in barely controlled rage.

She began to softly weep, hating herself for being weak and afraid, and as her terror mounted, she was unable to choke back the sobs.

“Stop that!” Sherri backhanded her so hard, Colleen’s ears were ringing. A trickle of blood ran down her chin, merging with the unstoppable tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clenching and unclenching her shackled hands. “It’s over between us. He said he’d never leave you. That’s why I was going away.”

Sherri shook her head. “Lying little bitch. I don’t believe either of you.”

“It’s true,” Colleen blurted. “I swear. I was headed for the bus station. Look in my purse. I have a ticket. For Atlanta.”

“So what? You’d come back. Or he’d go there. To look for you.”

“No! That’s why I’m going away. Alone. To start over. A new job, new name, new life. Someplace nobody knows me.”

“So you can latch onto somebody new, screw some other woman’s husband, ruin another woman’s life.”

“Never. I’m done with that. This was all a horrible mistake. You don’t understand. My husband? He beats me. Brice was trying to help me. He wanted to lock Allen up, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Brice, he’s a good guy. We didn’t mean to hurt you. Things just … happened.”

Sherri slapped her again, hard, without warning.

“Do not say his name again. I don’t want to hear my husband’s name come out of your filthy mouth one more time.”

Colleen nodded, mutely.

They were leaving downtown, headed west on First Avenue South. She looked out the window, hoping to catch someone’s eye, to somehow signal the danger she was in.

But the lights were with Sherri, and against Colleen, and they sailed through every intersection, never slowing, not even when they crossed Tyrone Boulevard and the street doglegged and became Central, and then they were speeding north on Gulf Boulevard.

A cold chill ran down Colleen’s spine when she realized where they were heading.

The traffic was unexpectedly light for late on a Friday afternoon. She glanced over at Sherri, whose jaw was clenched, eyes darting back and forth.

“Just let me go,” Colleen pleaded. “I’m not a threat to you. I’ll leave town.” She looked at the train case on the floor. “I have money,” she said. “Right here in this case. Everything from my bank account. Seven thousand dollars. You can have all of it. Just let me out of this car.”

Sherri laughed. “You think this is about money? Think you can buy your way out of what you’ve done to me?”

They drove on. The light at the next intersection was yellow as they approached. Colleen swiveled slightly in her seat. If she could get her hands on the door handle, just as they slowed to a stop for the light? Whatever injuries she suffered would surely be better than whatever Sherri had in mind.

The light changed to red. Colleen turned quickly, groping for the handle, but her captor saw the move for what it was and stomped on the gas pedal, hurtling through the light to a cacophony of car horns from narrowly averted cars in the intersection.

Sherri calmly turned and pointed the pistol at her passenger. “Try that again and I’ll shoot you right here.”

“Go ahead,” Colleen blurted. “Kill me. Isn’t that what you intend to do anyway?”

“None of your damn business,” Sherri snapped. She drove onward, with the gun clutched tightly in her right hand.

Colleen saw a jagged flash of lightning. For the first time she noticed that the sky had darkened, with ominous gray clouds poised just to the west, over the Gulf. Thunder rumbled overhead, and rain began to pelt the car’s hood.

It was the kind of typical late-summer Florida thunderstorm that Colleen had always loved. As a child, she would stand transfixed at the front window of her parents’ house, staring out at the light show. Now, she gloomily reflected that this storm would probably be her last.