Chapter 48

48

Present Day

Wylie mentally scanned her body for any injuries. Her chest ached from being held back by the seat belt, and she knew she was going to have a hell of a sore neck the next day, but everything else seemed to be in one piece. She opened her eyes. The front windshield looked like an intricate spider's web. She had driven right through the barn wall.

With a moan, Wylie released her seat belt and tried the driver's side door, but it was blocked by a snowdrift. She crawled over the gearshift and tested the passenger door, and it swung open just wide enough that she was able to get out. Wylie's legs felt rubbery as she stepped out of the Bronco and into the dark, her only light coming from the nearly full moon.

The back half of the vehicle was still inside the barn, and the wooden planks above the hole sighed and swayed. Afraid that the barn's remaining section was going to come tumbling down, Wylie picked her way around the rubble to a safe distance away. Her first instinct was to hurry back outside to make sure that the girl and Becky were okay. But before she did that, Wylie knew she had to look for Randy and make sure that he was incapacitated or dead.

With heavy legs, Wylie stepped through the debris and back inside the barn. She scanned the floor for Randy. He should have been somewhere nearby, but there was no sign of him except for a streak of blood on the ground.

The hair on the back of Wylie's neck stood up. She couldn't imagine anyone surviving the impact. Wylie reached for a hammer sitting in a jumble of tools and followed the bloody path as it wound its way around old furniture and broken-down farm equipment.

She held her breath as she turned each corner, expecting Randy to be there, ready to pounce. Instead, she found him on his stomach, trying to army crawl across the floor, his right leg bent, bloodied, and dragging uselessly behind him.

"There's nowhere to run, Randy," Wylie said, echoing the same warning he had given her. He turned his face to the sound of her voice, and Wylie bit back a gasp of revulsion. The right side of his face was shredded, his nose bent at an unnatural angle.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle as blood bubbled from his lips. He tried to drag himself forward, his hands scrabbling at the ground in front of him, but didn't have the strength.

Wylie looked at the hammer she held in her hands. It would be so easy. One swing and it would be over. For all of them. She raised the hammer above her head, her tired muscles and sore chest protesting. The little girl and Becky would be free from their captor. And so would Wylie. She would be free from the black shadow that she had been trying to outrun, the shadow that haunted her for years.

Randy's breathing was shallow, and his face was tight with pain, but he watched Wylie warily as she spread the hay over his body. "What's her name?" Wylie asked. "Becky's daughter, what's her name?"

Randy looked at her, his eyes narrow slits, and his mouth curled into a mean smile. Wylie turned to leave, but Randy called out to her, and she stopped.

"It was supposed to be you all along," Randy said, his voice weak but taunting. "Just you. But your family got in the way and Becky didn't run as fast as you did."

Wylie wanted to throw up. Not only had she let go of her best friend's hand when it mattered most, Wylie was the intended victim from the beginning.

She tried to shake the thought away. For decades she wanted to confront the person responsible for the destruction of her family. "You turned off the air-conditioning after you shot them. Why? To make it harder for the police to figure out time of death? Well, they figured that out. And you tried to make everyone think it was my brother," Wylie said angrily. "You shot my parents with your gun and then when my brother confronted you, you killed him then took his shotgun and shot my parents again to try and throw the police off. They figured that out too. You weren't as smart as you thought you were."

"I guess it worked," Randy rasped. "No one ever tied the crime to me. I was very careful but I watched you," he said. Wylie froze. His words hit her chest like daggers. "Even afterward. I still watched you, and you never knew. I thought about taking you, too, but your grandparents moved you out of town. Too bad. It would have been fun."

She turned her back to him, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. "We're leaving, and the police are going to come for you."

"Well, let's both hope I die before then," Randy gave a little laugh. "We all know where I'm going either way."

"Straight to hell," Wylie said with satisfaction.

As she turned to go, Randy's hand shot out from beneath the straw and grabbed her ankle. Caught off balance, Wylie crashed to the ground, the air forced from her lungs. Pain reverberated through her body.

She'd let her guard down, Wylie thought as she tried to harness her breath. She tried to crawl out of his reach, but with a grunt, he latched onto her waistband and began to drag her toward him. His strength surprised her. She should have known he wouldn't give up so easily. Wylie tried to fight back but his grip was like a vise. She had nowhere to go.

Randy flipped Wylie onto her back and pinned her arms above her head. Wylie stared up at his mangled face. Why wasn't he dead? The car should have killed him. Wylie writhed beneath his weight.

"No," she cried out over and over. Things weren't going to end this way. She managed to free one hand and raked her fingers down the injured side of his face. He howled in pain but was able to snag her wrist and force it to the ground.

"No!" Wylie screamed again on a continuous loop.

"Shut up," Randy panted, stuffing a wad of straw into Wylie's open mouth. She tried to spit it out but the dry, prickly hay filled her cheeks and her throat, instantly cutting off her supply of air. She kicked out in panic, but Randy's weight was too much for her.

It would be so easy to let go, to just die. She would be able to be with her mother and father again. She could almost feel her father's hand on her head, could practically hear her mother's voice. Smile big. Her grandparents would be there too. Time to come home, Shoo, her grandpa would say. Her grandmother, stoic as always, would just nod her approval. And Ethan. She would finally be able to apologize to Ethan for not believing in him. It's okay, little sister, he would say. I always believed in you.

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.