The Overnight Guest(18)

By the time Wylie crossed the ditch, the woman still hadn’t moved, and Wylie feared the worst. She dropped to her knees and set the flashlight down so it illuminated the injured woman. Wylie lay down next to the prone woman. She gently brushed the newly fallen snow from the woman’s face to find a large gash across her forehead and one eye completely swollen shut. She was in bad shape. Wylie had to get her out of there.

Wylie saw no way of turning the woman without inflicting further injury. The best Wylie could do was pull as much snow away from the woman’s face as she could.

“Can you hear me?” Wylie asked as she pulled off her gloves and pressed her fingers to the woman’s neck in hopes of finding a pulse. “I found the little boy. He’s safe.” Nothing. “Please,” Wylie repeated, “Please don’t be dead.” Wylie tried to silence the roaring in her ears, to steady her trembling fingers.

Then there it was, a barely perceptible thump beneath her fingertips. “Oh, thank God,” Wylie breathed.

The woman gave a soft groan. “I’m here,” Wylie said. “My name is Wylie, and I’m going to help you. I found the boy, he’s okay. Is there anyone else?”

The woman seemed to hesitate a moment too long before shaking her head no.

So was it just the woman and the child in the accident? Wylie wasn’t sure she believed the woman, but why would she lie? Wylie thought again of the strange way the boy had acted when he first regained consciousness at the house. He reminded her of a trapped animal—desperate to escape. Was this woman his mother or someone else?

“Okay, I’m going to help you get out of this,” Wylie said as she put her gloves back on, carefully pushed down the razor-sharp fencing and climbed over. She dropped to her knees and began to frantically try and free the woman from the barbwire. The spiked hooks from the fence dug into the woman’s pants, tearing her jeans and the skin beneath. Bright red drops of blood marred the newly fallen snow.

The barbs bit through Wylie’s gloves, but she couldn’t free the woman. The woman cried out weakly in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Wiley said in a rush. “I just have to get you untangled from the fence.”

The woman tried to inch away from Wylie and the spikes dug even more deeply into her skin.

“Try not to move just yet,” Wylie urged. “You’ll just get caught up worse.” The woman continued to moan softly, her uninjured eye looking at Wylie with pain and something else. Defiance.

Wylie sat back on her heels, snowflakes catching on her eyelashes and melting against her sweaty face.

“I’m going to go back to the house and get some wire cutters,” Wylie told her. The woman reached out and grabbed Wylie’s wrist as if begging her not to leave. Wylie easily slipped from the woman’s grasp.

“I’ll be right back,” she assured her. “I promise. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to get you untangled.” The woman reached for her again, this time holding on to Wylie more tightly. Wylie understood the woman’s fear. Once Wylie left, the flashlight would go with her. The woman would be left behind in total darkness. The cold and wind were relentless and it was snowing even harder. The woman was slowly being buried alive.

Wylie unzipped her coat and wriggled out of it. Immediately the cold punched through her clothing and she gasped. Shivering, Wylie tucked the coat around the woman, covering her up as much as possible. Next, Wylie removed her hat and carefully placed it on the woman’s head, pulling it gently over her ears. At the last moment she remembered her car keys in her coat, fished them out, and stuffed them into her back pocket.

Wylie knew it was a risk exposing herself to the elements, but she would be able to get another hat and coat back at the house. On the other hand, the woman didn’t stand a chance without some kind of protection and wouldn’t last much longer.

Wylie unwound the yellow scarf from her neck and wrapped it around the barbwire fence just above the woman’s head. Its fringe blew in the wind like a grim flag, but when Wylie returned, it would help her locate the woman more quickly.

Something was completely off about this entire scene. Why would anyone dare to drive in the storm? Neither the woman nor the boy was dressed for the weather. No coats, boots, hats, or gloves. Did they live nearby? Were they trying to get home or trying to get away?

Wylie turned back toward the house. She had to hurry.



9


August 2000

Josie lay in the dark, her muscles tense, waiting for the next outburst of anger between her parents and Ethan. Instead came the usual sounds of the house at bedtime—the groan of pipes and running water, the flush of a toilet, the squeak of bedsprings. And finally, silence.

“Are you awake?” Becky whispered.

“Yeah,” Josie answered. She lifted her head and looked at the clock on the bedside table. 12:07. “I can’t sleep,” she said. The argument between her brother and parents made her feel sick. More so than usual. Her stomach swayed.

“Come on,” Becky whispered, getting to her feet.

“Where are we going?” Josie asked.

“Shhh,” Becky answered. She slowly opened the bedroom door and peered into the darkened hallway. All was quiet. The girls tiptoed to the staircase, covering their mouths to stifle any laughter.

This would be the most difficult part of sneaking out. The maneuvering down the stairs without alerting the entire house of their antics. Each step had its own tone and timbre when touched—a squeak, a sigh, a groan. Finally, they just held their breath and scurried down the steps. At the bottom, Josie and Becky stood, hearts racing, waiting for someone to come to the top of the stairs and order them back to bed.