The Overnight Guest(85)

Randy’s hands were around her throat now, squeezing. It wouldn’t be long now. Little snaps of light floated above Wylie’s face—almost close enough to touch.

But there was Becky and her daughter. An image of thirteen-year-old Becky with the wild tangle of curly black hair and the quick smile appeared as she floated in and out of consciousness. They needed her. She couldn’t leave them behind. Not again.

A fistful of stars, Becky whispered and reached out for her hand and Wylie smiled.



49


The girl knew that she wasn’t strong enough to fight her father, and she knew that Wylie wasn’t strong enough either, but if you had a gun, it wouldn’t matter. She would get the gun to Wylie, and she would make her father leave them alone, make him go away forever.

The snow had stopped, and in the beam of her flashlight, the world looked magical. Part of her wanted to pause and stare at the prettiness of it all, but she knew she had to keep moving. When the girl made it to the barn, she could hear the clatter of a struggle, the flailing of limbs, and a strange gasping sound. Except for the narrow beam from her flashlight, the barn was black. I’m not afraid of the dark, the girl reminded herself. With trembling hands, she moved in the direction of the raspy breaths to find her father. His face was covered in blood, but beneath it, the girl saw his all too familiar rage. He was on top of Wylie with his hands around her neck.

He was killing her. He always threatened to kill them, but he said it so often, she stopped believing it. But here he was, squeezing Wylie’s neck so that her face was turning purple.

“Let her go, Daddy,” the girl said, her voice small and timid. He didn’t even acknowledge she was there. “I mean it,” she said, this time more loudly, with more confidence.

This caused her father to look in his daughter’s direction, but instead of being frightened, he laughed. Shame spread throughout her body. He never listened to her. Ever. She rushed forward until she was standing behind him. “I mean it, let her go,” the girl said, raising the gun she found beneath the sofa after it fell from Wylie’s pocket.

He swung back his hand, striking the girl across the face, sending the gun and the flashlight sliding across the barn floor. In doing so, he released one hand from Wylie’s throat, giving her a chance to fight back. Wylie squirmed out from beneath Randy and wrapped her fingers around the first thing she could lay her hands on, the hammer.

Gasping for breath Wylie managed to get to her knees and swung her arm with all her remaining strength, striking Randy across the shoulder with the claw end of the hammer. He swore and dove toward Wylie. Again, he was on top of her, hands around Wylie’s neck.

“Daddy,” the little girl said from her spot on the barn floor. She had gained purchase on the flashlight and aimed the beam directly in his eyes so that he raised one hand to block the glare.

“Stay out of this,” he said. “Stay back and shut up.”

Wylie had stopped moving. Stopped fighting back.

The girl lowered the flashlight and scanned the floor and spotted the gun. Her father blinked rapidly and reached for the claw hammer that lay in Wylie’s limp fingers. “Close your eyes, peanut,” he said. “You don’t want to see this.”

He rose up, hammer lifted above his head, poised to strike when he felt the cold metal barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head.

The girl closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.



50


Present Day

Holding hands, Wylie and the girl lurched to the house; the gash in her temple throbbed. She felt sick, dizzy, and most assuredly had a concussion. The girl kept looking back toward the barn in search of her father. “Don’t worry,” Wylie said, squeezing her hand. “He’s not coming.”

They stumbled through the front door to find Becky still sitting there, the empty shotgun aimed at them.

“Becky,” Wylie said in alarm. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

“He told me he had friends everywhere, and if we tried to get away, they would take us back,” she said shakily.

It took a moment for Wylie to figure out what Becky was saying. “Randy lied to you,” she said. “He told you those things to scare you. He took you all by himself. No one helped him. Randy was the monster. The only monster. And now he’s dead.”

Becky allowed her grip on the shotgun to relax. “He’s dead?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Wylie said. She didn’t mention that it was her daughter who pulled the trigger. There would be time enough for all of that. “He can’t hurt either of you ever again. I promise.”

Slowly, Becky lowered the shotgun and began to cry. The little girl went to her. “It’s okay, Mama,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

Wylie opened the shades so they could see better. The sun was just beginning to rise.

“We have to get out of here,” Wylie said. “We need to get you to the hospital. We’re out of wood, and God knows if the storm is going to start up again.”

“How?” Becky asked through her tears.

“Randy’s truck. I got his keys,” Wylie said pulling them from her pocket. “He’s probably got chains on his tires.”

“Okay,” Becky said in a small voice. “What about the man in the toolshed?”