She
gathered leaves and scattered them on top of the mound, which had a small hole
at the front, through which she’d need to back into.
When she was finished, it was dusk.
She stood back, appraised her work and
felt that at the end of the day, with every odd stacked against her, she had
created something she could be proud of.
The top of the shelter was finished off with wet, muddy leaves gathered
from the wetlands.
Sticks were
placed on top of them so the leaves wouldn’t blow away.
By doing this, she had created a cover
of insulation, which she’d need because there was no way she could light a fire
tonight.
He’d see it.
Unless I
want him to.
By the
time she wiggled backward into her nest, she was more thirsty than she’d been
in her life.
Her throat was
scorched.
Raw.
With the blood still caked in her mouth,
it was as unbearable as her headache, which she knew, at least in part, had to
do with her lack of food and water consumption.
She
needed to sleep.
She needed to
conserve her energy.
She snuggled
down on the moist forest floor, which chilled her body to the point that she
began to shiver, and she closed her eyes to shut out the day.
She
could smell the night.
She could
smell the earth beneath her.
She
could hear nothing unusual outside, which for the moment put her mind at
rest.
And then, probably through
sheer exhaustion, she started to drift off to sleep.
Tried to
drift off to sleep.
Each
time she thought she was close to the abyss, her mind spun out and her thoughts
went to Patty.
Without question,
she knew she had called her today to catch up on last night, especially since
she drove off with some random man, something Patty was accused of doing often,
but which Cheryl knew she almost never did.
She was, in fact, surprised that she did
it.
It wasn’t like her.
She
wondered how long Patty would wait before she decided it was odd that Cheryl
wasn’t answering her phone and that she should drive over to see if she was all
right?
She wouldn’t have done
it today.
Too soon.
But tomorrow?
There was a good chance of that
happening since tomorrow was Sunday and they usually got together for brunch at
The Lucerne Inn, a gorgeous inn turned into a hotel that overlooked stunning
mountains and a beautiful lake.
When
Patty knocked and there was no answer, what would she do?
Leave?
Maybe.
But if the Colemans were about, she
might ask them if they’d seen or heard her, which they would have if she’d been
home.
Theirs was an old house, but
as solid as it was, the floors still creaked.
Would they question it if they hadn’t
heard her in two days?
She thought
they would.
And then what?
How long would they wait before they
decided the right thing to do was to enter her apartment out of concern?
Cheryl
didn’t know.
What she did know is
that James Coleman wouldn’t wait long.
She’d been a tenant of his for years.
He was aware of her routine comings and
goings, which rarely changed because Cheryl’s life was admittedly dull.
Also, during those rare times that she
did take a vacation, she always told the Colemans, who in turn asked if she’d
like them to look after her cat, Blanche, while she was gone.
They had a good relationship.
She figured that if James hadn’t heard
from her or seen her by Monday, he’d enter her apartment.
But
please do it sooner
, she thought.
Please do it now.
Her
shelter was starting to warm a bit due to her body heat.
She tucked closer into a fetal position
and tried again for sleep, but it wouldn’t come.
Her mind was too active.
In the quiet of night, she listened to
the silence, which unnerved her because it reinforced how utterly alone she
was.
And how frightened she was.
And how vulnerable.
She
thought of her cat and realized that she also had gone a day without food and
water.
Blanche was an older cat,
nearly seventeen, and when she didn’t get her way, she’d let the world know
with a series of caterwauls that could lift a roof they were so loud.
Would the Colemans hear her?
They would.
But would they question it?
That’s what she needed to rely on.
She prayed that they questioned it.
She was
thinking about all of this when, after about a half hour, somewhere in the
distance, she thought she heard movement.
Five minutes passed and she was certain she heard something coming
toward her.
She held
her breath and listened.
Was it
him?
An animal?
She didn’t know.
Her heart beat faster.
It still was too far off, though it
sounded like the kicking up of leaves.
Some sort of rustling.
She
took a shallow breath and hoped to God that it wasn’t him.
Or that it wasn’t a bear because a bear
was a possibility.
Black bears were
nocturnal and, if threatened, they could become aggressive.
In case it was either, she reached for
the sharp branch next to her and held it close.
The end of it was pointed.
If she had the chance, she’d stab him or
the animal in the face, and then she’d have to leave the shelter and run in her
damned boots in the dark.
That
would just leave her in more danger because she wouldn’t be able to see and
because she’d be exposed to the elements.
The
sound was growing closer.
She
couldn’t tell if it was human or animal.
But if it was human, if it was
him
, wouldn’t he have a flashlight
so he could see?
She peered through
the cracks in the shelter and saw no light.
Then the rustling stopped.
In her
pocket, her cell phone buzzed.
It
startled her to the point that she covered her mouth with her hand.
Before it could buzz again and thus
alert whoever and whatever was outside, she quickly reached for it, turned it
on and read the text message.
“There
you are, Cheryl,” it said.
“Now,
what are you going to do?”
CHAPTER
TWEN
TY-TWO
When
Kenneth Berkowitz finally found Ted Carpenter, the sun was still up, but it was
beginning its slow slide into night.
Before
Berkowitz appeared, Ted heard him crashing through the woods and he had to
wonder if he was dealing with an idiot.
Kenneth himself said earlier that when he started to hear his footfalls,
Ted was to call out softly to him.
And yet he was making this sort of racket?
It was unbelievable to him.
He knew better than to behave like
this.
He knew that making such a
loud, aggressive-sounding noise would carry in the woods and potentially tip
off Cheryl Dunning to their current location.
So, he’s
still pissed
, Ted thought.
Fine.
With his
Glock held at his side, he waited for his partner to show himself, not knowing
what to expect, but prepared to act nevertheless should Berkowitz try something
stupid.
Ahead of
him, he watched trees bend right and left.
Leaves shook free and fell in an explosion of color.
There was a flash of orange, and then it
disappeared.
He heard what sounded
like someone panting.
Carpenter
took a step back and furrowed his brow.
Something
wasn’t right.
He was
about to conceal himself behind a tree when, ten feet away, an elderly man
burst through the thick of trees and stopped, stunned, when he faced
Carpenter.
He had a
rifle in his hand.
Blood was
spattered across his face.
The man
was somewhere in his seventies and he looked terrified.
In his orange vest and cap, he obviously
was here to hunt, but the noise of someone else running close behind him
suggested that it was he who was being hunted.
“Help
me,” he said.
“Please.
There’s a man with a gun.
A young man.
Behind me.
Shoot him.
My rifle’s locked up.
He’s crazy.”
On
unsteady legs, the man turned to his right and began to run again.
Or try to run.
It was a pathetic sight, but Ted
Carpenter watched it all play out with fascination.
When Berkowitz shot out of the woods and
into the clearing with his burly body and enraged face, he looked at Ted, who
pointed to his left.
Kenneth nodded
and aimed his gun at the man, who was limping in his effort to get away.
Berkowitz’s gun had a silencer, a scope
and it was fitted with a laser for accuracy.
He allowed the man a few additional
steps of life before he took aim and shot him in the back of the head.
The man
went down hard.
Berkowitz
walked over to him, pushed him over with his foot, and peered down at his ruined
face.
Ted joined him, saw the man’s
dilated eyes and how the hollow-point bullet had burst through his forehead.
“So,
we’ve got hunters onsite?” Ted asked.
“Obviously.”
“Did you
see any others?”
“I
didn’t.”
“That
was quite a commotion you made, but I suppose what matters is that
you got him―so
long as Cheryl didn’t hear it, which is possible.
Let me see your gun.”
“Why?”
“Because
yours has a silencer.
Mine
doesn’t.”
“What do
you need it for?”
“Earlier,
I was thinking of a quote from Deuteronomy 23:1:
‘No man whose testicles have been crushed
or whose organ has been cut off may become a member of the Assembly of God.’”
“Why
were you thinking of that?”
“I’m
always thinking of scripture.
Aren’t you?
Hand me your
gun.
Or I’ll just use my knife.
It really doesn’t matter to me.
I’m going to make certain this pig sees
no part of God.”
“Then
use your knife,” Kenneth said.
“We
need to preserve our ammunition.”
“It that
the real reason?”
Before
Berkowitz could answer, Ted Carpenter already was on his knees, pulling down
the man’s pants, removing his knife from his belt and doing what he had to do
to keep this man from becoming a member of the Assembly of God.
CHAPTER
TWE
NTY-THREE
When he
was finished, Ted stood over the mutilated body and assessed it with Kenneth.
“I
suppose animals will come for it,” Ted said while he wiped his bloody hands on
the forest floor and then on a handkerchief he kept in his jacket pocket.
“They’ll have a feast.”
“And an
unfortunate one.
Remember Isaiah
66:17:
‘They that sanctify
themselves, and purify themselves in the gardens behind one in the midst,
eating swine’s flesh, and the abomination, and the mouse, shall be consumed
together, saith the Lord.’”
“And
from Leviticus:
‘And the swine,
though he divide the hoof, and be clovenfooted, yet he cheweth not the cud; he
is
unclean to you.’”
“Also
from Isaiah:
‘For, behold, the Lord
will come with fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind, to render his
anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire’.”
The two
men stared at one another, each unblinking.
“We’re
the fire,” Ted said.
“We’re
part of it,” Kenneth agreed.