The Overnight Guest(20)

A dark figure emerged from the house. Josie couldn’t tell who it was but the shotgun in his hand was unmistakable. Like a wolf, he walked slowly, methodically toward them.

Josie reached for Becky’s hand and they started running, their bare feet pounding against the ground, sharp rocks and twigs pierced the soles of her feet, but Josie barely noticed. Next to her, Becky’s breath came in frantic hitches.

If they could make it to the corn, Josie was confident that they would be okay.

“Josie,” came a male voice. Had she heard right? Had someone called her name? She dared a glance over her shoulder, and the figure was picking up speed and gaining on them. Was it her brother? Josie couldn’t tell and didn’t want to slow down to find out.

“Faster,” Josie breathlessly urged Becky. “Hurry.” Josie stumbled and fell to the ground but quickly got to her feet. Almost there. The thunder of footsteps approaching prodded them forward. Screams punctured the air. Josie managed to stay upright but Becky lost her footing, and try as Josie might to hold on, Becky’s fingers slid from her own.

“Get up, get up,” Josie begged, pulling on Becky’s arm. “Please.” Once again, she dared to look behind her. The figure raised his hands and took aim. Josie dropped Becky’s arm, turned, and ran.

Josie stumbled into the field and was immediately swallowed up by the corn. Becky’s desperate cries followed her but still she kept running. The crack of the shotgun exploded in her ears and searing pain ripped through her arm. He shot me, she thought in disbelief. I’ve been shot. The world pitched and tilted but using the cornstalks, Josie somehow kept her balance, kept moving. She wanted to go back for Becky, but her feet could move only forward.

The coarse leaves whipped against Josie’s face leaving red welts and the hard-packed soil gouged her feet. When she could run no more, she stopped, bent over, hands on knees, and tried to hold completely still. Her arm was throbbing and her ears rang painfully. Was he coming? Her instinct was to keep going, but she had no idea where she was.

Josie had torn a path through the corn and knew that the gunman would only have to follow the flattened stems to find her. Josie began to sidle through the rows, zigzagging as she went, holding her arm, slick with blood, close to her body. Josie knew what a shotgun shell could do to pheasants and deer. She’d seen it time and again. Gaping holes, blood gushing. A few inches over and the bullet would have struck her in the heart. She’d be dead.

Gradually, Josie’s breath steadied and the clanging in her ears subsided. She kept her eyes on the corn above, looking for a ripple or sway that might alert her to another presence. Josie’s mind whirred. Maybe the shooter thought she was dead. She considered lying on the ground in a heap and playing dead just in case he was still looking for her, but that was too scary.

She thought of Ethan and her father and the ugly words exchanged between the two of them. Her father’s terse words kept replaying in her mind: Ethan, give me the gun. And Ethan’s defiant refusal.

Was it Ethan? No. Josie refused to believe it. It couldn’t be her once-sweet brother who taught her how to bait a hook and how to ride a bike.

Josie needed to get her bearings. She had been in this field a thousand times. She could do this; she could find her way out and get help.

A scratchy rustle of leaves came from off to Josie’s right. Josie stopped and stood erect, holding completely still, listening. Clouds curtained the moon and stars, and the field’s shadows bled into one another until Josie couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. Still, she felt a presence some twenty feet away. She hoped, prayed it was her father or mother coming to look for her but deep down knew that whoever was in the corn with her wasn’t there to help.

The dry, whispery sound came closer and Josie pressed her fingers to her mouth to keep from crying out. Blood dripped down her arm and into a puddle at her feet.

Josie fought the urge to bolt. Stay still, she told herself. You can’t see him, so he can’t see you. But then the dark shifted—just slightly. The shadows darkened, and he was right there, just a few feet away, his back to Josie. So close that if she reached out, she could touch him, so close that she could smell the heat coming off his skin—the not so unfamiliar scent of sweat and body odor. Was it Ethan? Could her brother have been the one who shot her and chased her into the field?

A small grunt of impatience came from the figure and Josie held her breath. The shape began to drift away but then paused and slowly turned around. After what felt like an eternity, the shadow slunk deeper into the corn and disappeared.

Josie let out a shaky breath. He was gone for now.



10


The flowers’ delicate purple petals shriveled and dropped one by one to the ground, then blew away. Now prickly green nettles sprouted in front of the window.

Her mother was still sick, pinballing from the bed to the bathroom, hand covering her mouth.

“You have to get her to eat and drink something,” her father said one evening when he stopped by.

The girl would pull the chair over to the wooden shelf where they kept the food so she could reach the jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. The girl would try to make her mother eat, but she wouldn’t. She would resolutely keep her mouth shut, and the girl would end up eating the sandwich all by herself and wash it down with a cup of water from the bathroom sink.

Her father started bringing thick shakes for her mother to drink. He would prop her mother up in the bed and cajole her into drinking. “Just a little bit more,” he’d urge. “You have to stay strong for the baby.”