Going Home (The Green Bayou Novels Book 1) Page 19

  “Did you miss me, baby? Daddy’s home…,” I hear Kent saying as his body enters the doorway.

  Not seeing me in bed, Kent’s gaze shifts to the corner where Jacob and I are huddled. His eyes fill with rage, and I cower in the corner.

  “We are supposed to be starting our new relationship today, and what do I find?” he yells, storming toward me. “So, you’re screwing your partner!”

  “No! It’s not what you think,” I say, pushing against the floor board with my heels. I’m flat against the wall, and there is nowhere else to go, so I curl into a ball.

  He reaches down, grabs a fistful of hair, and knocks my head against the wall as he yanks me to a standing position. I cry out from the pain, and feeble Jacob tries as hard as possible to get his legs underneath him. I think he’s pleading with Kent to leave me alone, but I can’t be sure because the ringing in my ears is so intense.

  Kent opens his hand to free my hair and curls it around my throat. I struggle to pull in a breath as he lifts me off the ground and then slams me onto the bed. He climbs on top of me, and before I can catch my breath, I feel the searing pain of a backhanded hit. It lands opposite the cheek Kent had broken earlier.

  “Kent, please stop! I didn’t sleep with him! I was waiting for you! I was just trying to stay warm while waiting for you.”

  My arms are pinned down because he is kneeling on them, and my bones feel like they’re about to snap under his weight. I turn my head from side to side, unsure of what fate will become me. I’m breathless, yet sobbing from the pain, so I do my best to check out mentally. Kent’s fist is drawn high in the air, and I tense up while waiting for it to smash into my face. The hit never comes. Instead, Kent launches from the bed. I can barely move my arms when I slowly roll off of the bed. Kent rushes to the door, obviously hearing something I didn’t. He opens it, and shuts it quickly behind him.

  “Hey, man,” I hear Kent saying. “What are you doing here?”

  Oh, my god! A person! Please, please, please, let this be the help we need. I walk over to the window as quietly as I can and take a peek outside. On the edge of the porch stands Alphonse in all his gangly glory. I try to hear the conversation but can’t make out what is being said. Before I can retreat, the door swings open; Kent holds Alphonse by the scruff of his neck.

  “Damn it, Alphonse! You always show up when you’re not wanted! Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?” Kent questions the quivering man.

  Alphonse looks around the room. His arms are in the air, and his eyes are wide with fright. He tries to turn and run when he sees me, but Kent has a strong grip on him. Jacob makes a noise, and Alphonse’s eyes dart that way. His skin goes ashen. Kent shoves him toward the bed, and Alphonse slowly sits next to me, his eyes never leaving the behemoth holding us captive. When Kent starts pulling his hair and pacing in circles, Alphonse finally looks over at me.

  “Pete will come,” he whispers in my ear. I pray he’s right. “You okay?” he whispers again when Kent has his back to us.

  I nod my head slightly. “Is he?” he asks, referring to Jacob. I shake my head slightly, and a fresh batch of tears rolls down my face.

  “Okay, here’s where we’re at,” Kent announces, looking at the two of us. “He is not an issue anymore,” he says, pointing toward Jacob. “I vowed that I’d have you before I getting rid of you, and I keep my promises,” he says, his index finger poking me in the chest. “So, you’re going nowhere. And you…you’re just a pain in my ass,” he says, pointing toward Alphonse. “Let’s go for a walk,” he instructs.

  Alphonse vehemently shakes his head back and forth, refusing to go. “It’s okay, dude. I promise I’ll make it quick,” Kent says, trying to sound reassuring. Alphonse, steadily shaking his head, starts to wail. Kent rolls his eyes upwards and paces again. While he has his back turned to us, I manage to grab one of the long shards of glass from under the mattress. I keep it hidden in my hand.

  “Why do you people have to keep making things so damned complicated?” he questions through clenched teeth, gripping the sides of his head.

  I take advantage of the diversion to tap Alphonse’s hand, and when he opens it, I pass the long shard to him. He quickly closes his grip around it, nodding his head with understanding.

  Eyes narrowed, Kent begins to walk toward the bed to get him, but when Alphonse stands, Kent stops and opens the front door of the camp. He points his finger outside the door. Alphonse tries his best to stay as far away from Kent as possible, hugging the wall as he slowly makes his way to the door. Once he reaches the porch, Alphonse lets out a primitive yell and sinks the shard deep into Kent’s chest. About an inch sticks out of the wound. Alphonse jumps off the porch and into the water before Kent can grab him. Grunting with pain, his face turns so red it looks almost purple. I see Alphonse swimming full speed toward the shore.

  Kent jumps into his boat to grab his gun, and I see that Alphonse has made it safely behind a tree when I hear Kent’s gun fire. I take advantage of the situation to slam the door shut, but before I can latch it, Kent bullies his way back inside.

  “I’m getting tired of all this shit!” he shouts. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re even worth it!”

  He reaches over and yanks the shard of glass from his chest, tossing the blood-covered chunk to the side before staggering towards me. I try getting away, but there’s nowhere to go.

  “Fix it!” he demands, ripping his shirt from his body.

  Using the situation to bide myself some time, I slowly dab at the blood with a wad of cloth that was once his shirt. I hand the other half back and ask him to tear strips for me as I pretend to make a huge fuss over the wound.

  “Kent, I’m so sorry he hurt you. It must be incredibly painful. Please try to relax, sweetheart. The more relaxed you become, the easier it will be for me to fix the wound.” I keep my voice soft and steady, even though I’m falling apart inside. I count in my head over and over, trying to convince myself that when I get to three I’m going to jab my fingers as far into the wound as I can. My hope is to cause enough pain that I have time to take the gun out of his waist band.

  The fourth time I count to two, I finally force myself to think the number three, and shove my fingers right where I’d hoped. Kent howls, falls to his knees, and then doubles over. I jump out of the bed and try to pull the gun from his pants, but his reflexes are far better than I expect them to be. Before I can attempt to pull and run, he grasps my ankle in his hand. I hit the floor hard, my head smacking into the filthy plywood. My eyes glaze over, but despite the lack of focus, I see yellow sunlight streaming through the now opened doorway. I wonder if I’m seeing an angel because the figure standing in the doorway is completely surrounded by beams of bright light. I hear yelling. I struggle to keep my eyes open. Pete? I’m out.

  12

  “Hey, so glad you’re coming around. How are you feeling?” a mysterious voice asks. “Emily, you’re safe now. Wake up. It’s all over. Come on. Wake up for us.”

  My eyelids finally cooperate, and when I turn my head toward the voice, her bright red hair catches my attention.

  “Connie?” I ask, my voice gravelly.

  “Hey, girl,” she smiles down at me. “You’re in the hospital, but you’re fine. You’re pretty banged up, but nothing that won’t heal with time,” she says, smiling as she strokes my hair.

  “Pete?” I ask.

  “He and Bert are out searching for Kent. He got away through some trap door in the bathroom floor by dropping into the water. By the time Pete and Bert got outside, he’d already made it to shore. Poor little Alphonse tried following him, but Kent disappeared into the woods. They’ve been tracking him all night,” Connie explains. “Pete asked if I’d stay with you, which was a pretty damn stupid question on his part. I’m so glad you’re okay.” I lift my hand to cover hers and squeeze lightly.

  “Jacob?” I ask. Her smile quickly fades, and she stares at a spot on the wall. She bites her trembling lower lip, and a tear stre
aks through the makeup on her cheek. She shakes her head, and I close my eyes.

  “No,” I whimper. The huge lump in my throat prevents all other conversation. Connie sits in the chair beside the bed, lightly rubbing my leg to soothe me. After a few minutes of weeping, I finally open my eyes. “Tell me what happened, Connie.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know. Jacob was rescued and taken to the boat landing where an air ambulance flew him to DeSoto. He was in and out of consciousness during the transport, and they rushed him to surgery to fix his foot and the gunshot wound.” Her eyes brim with fresh tears. “He was too weak; his body gave out. They lost him about twenty minutes into the procedure, but they got him back. He coded a second time, and there was nothing more they could do. They didn’t want to give up, but the doctor had no choice but to call it. I’m so sorry, Emily. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  The tears are falling so heavily I can’t speak. Sniffling, she says, “There’s more.”

  “More?” I manage to choke out, dabbing at my face with a tissue.

  “Yes. The nurse said he kept asking if you were safe. He was so worried about you, Emily. Once he knew you were safe, he asked that a message be passed to you. He said for you to please remember what he wanted you to do for him. He also said that above all, it is most important that you remember your special conversation,” she says. My broken heart shatters. I’ve lost my partner, my confidant, my brother, my Jacob.

  Connie asks me to elaborate about what Jacob referred to, but I need to talk to Georgia first. Connie understands and calls her for me. As for our last conversation, that will just have to stay locked away in my heart for the time being. I close my eyes to rest until Georgia arrives.

  She’s at the hospital within half an hour, and when she gently knocks on the door, Connie lets her into the room. The two women hug. When I hear Georgia’s voice, I push the button on the rail to raise myself into a sitting position. She rounds the corner, stops, and stares, shocked to see my sorry condition. Bruises are everywhere. My cheeks are both swollen and various shades of blue, black, purple, and yellow. I have a nasal cannula and two IVs running, one in each hand. She slowly shuffles over to the bed.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes puffy and voice hoarse from crying so much.

  “I’m gonna be okay,” I say, although the way I say it, I’m not even sure I believe it. She sort of smiles a half smile. I struggle because I don’t know where to begin. Finally, I find some words.

  “When Jacob and I were being held hostage, we talked a lot,” I begin, slowly. Georgia sits on the edge of her seat, intently listening to every word I say. “He asked me to promise that if anything were to happen to him…” I break off for a minute to choke back my tears. Georgia’s eyes dart back and forth rapidly, searching my face for answers. I take a breath. “I’m sorry; it’s all still surreal. Jacob made me promise that if anything was to happen to him, you should know that he loves you, and that he intended to ask you to marry him.”

  I keep my eyes fixed on the patch of hospital blanket in my lap that I nervously pick with my fingers. I hear Georgia begin to cry.

  “He asked me to tell you to look in his sock drawer. There’s a thick pair of striped wool socks in there. That’s where you’ll find the ring. He wants you to have it.” I force myself to look at Georgia, and her eyes plead with me to continue. “I wish I had more for you, Georgia. I’m so sorry about all of this. Jacob is such a good man.” I hang my head. “Was a good man. We were lucky to have him in our lives.” My voice cracks, and I look away.

  Georgia slowly rises, and once she’s fully upright, she bends at the waist to hug me. I don’t care about the pain, so I try my best to return her embrace. She pulls away and looks me in the eye.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me,” she says in between shaky breaths. “I hope you feel better soon. Please keep me posted on her condition,” Georgia says, turning towards Connie. Connie nods, standing to show Georgia out.

  “I’m going to let you rest, but call if you need anything,” Georgia announces on her way out.

  “I will. Thank you for coming by, Georgia.”

  After she is gone, I lower the head of my bed. I’m anxious to get more sleep. Unconscious, uncaring, and unfeeling is where I want to be. “When am I up for another round of pain meds?”

  “Right now, sweetie.” Connie pushes the button to call the nurse on duty.

  She comes over the loud speaker and announces she’ll be right down. I watch as she empties the syringe into the port of my IV tubing. I feel better almost instantly, and I allow myself to drift into the welcome state between consciousness and unconsciousness. I make Connie promise to wake me if she hears anything from Pete or Bert, and as soon as she agrees, I fall asleep.

  PETE

  I’m exhausted, more exhausted than I’ve ever been, but I’m not about to let that son of a bitch go free. No, I refuse to stop until Kent is in custody. Bert never once leaves my side. The darkness we’ve been trudging through starts to diminish as dawn approaches. Together, we wade through the swamps, following the signs that Kent leaves as he tries to evade us. We walk for a while then stop to listen.

  Strange noises catch our attention, but they just end up being made by a bird or some swamp creature. This time when we hear the ruckus, we know it’s something big by the way it crashes through the brush. Bert motions for me to move toward the sound, while he stays behind to cover me. He keeps his gun trained in the direction of the noise. As I edge closer, I know it’s Kent behind the tree. His heavy breathing, along with part of his arm being visible from my position, gives him away. I’ve got the bastard right where I want him. He’s mine.

  Kent, gasping for air, is covered with mud. He shivers violently as blood steadily soaks down his chest. His gun sits in his lap, so I point my pistol center mass, ready to fire at the first movement.

  “Bert!” I yell in his direction. Right on cue, he takes his spot and aims his gun at Kent, too. Kent glares at us, hatred spewing from his eyes.

  “So you got me?” he says. “Well, let’s do this. Call it in.”

  “The nearest patrol group is miles away, and damn, it looks like I’m out of range,” I taunt. “Put down the gun.” Kent rolls his eyes.

  “And I suppose you’re gonna make me?” he mockingly asks, trying to antagonize me. He lifts the pistol with his good hand, but before he can tighten his grip, Bert answers his question.

  “No, I am,” Bert says, kicking the gun out of Kent’s fingers. He draws his hand back in pain.

  “Now you’re going to answer some questions,” I demand.

  Kent stays on the ground huffing, his lips blue from the cold.

  “I’ve explained everything to your little honey. Honey.” He stops talking and smiles. “She tastes sweet as honey, doesn’t she, Pete? It’s okay to tell me because I already know.”

  I was angry before, but now fury courses through my veins. I strike him across the face, closed fist, with the back of my hand. Kent is stunned at first, then he smiles while wiggling his jaw.

  “Touched a nerve, Pete? Why so sensitive?” he sneers. Bert quietly watches, gun still trained on Kent.

  “No more bullshit! Tell me why!” I demand again.

  “Pete, you’re asking the wrong question. Why? The answer is so simple. Why not?” Kent laughs a slow, guttural laugh. “Does anything exciting ever happen in this crazy ass place? Of course not. You know that as well as I do. Sometimes you have to make your own excitement, no? But that ended when Emily came to town. That woman is surrounded by excitement, and I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I didn’t have to stage anything. Her crazy partner trying to kill her, an ax murderer holding her hostage, cars wrecking into the bayou—it all revolved around her. But, then everything seemed to stop once you two got engaged. No more fun for Kent.” He puffs out his lower lip in a pout. “Plus, she wanted to be with me, not your sorry ass. You forced her to be with you, and I had to save her.”

 
; “Enough of the bullshit! Explain what you mean by staging stuff!” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Staging stuff, uh, let’s see,” Kent says, rolling his eyes as if he’s trying to find the memory. “Well, I guess I would’ve been a teenager the first time,” he says, proudly. Bert and I exchange raised eyebrows. I give him a shallow shrug and a look that says I don’t know.

  “Dumb guy never even saw it coming!” Kent laughs. “I didn’t think his motorcycle would ever stop spinning! This should seem familiar to you, Pete? You and your honey were there that night. Except, as I remember, she handled the situation a whole lot better than you did. You spent most of your time hunched over by the back bumper of your fancy little car. Didn’t you, Pete?” He laughs again, and I feel sick to my stomach. There is only one way he could possibly know any of that.

  “You were there?” I question.

  “Watched the whole thing from behind a tree,” he confesses. “It was time to play chicken and guess who won. I’ll give you a hint, not the motorcycle guy.” His smile broadens. “I jumped out into the road, and the sucker swerved to miss me. Bam! Son of a bitch bounced off a tree and landed on a fence. No one ever knew I was there. After that, it was easy to stage things.” His eyes light up. “Having that much power over people and deciding whether they live or die is amazing!”

  “You disgust me,” I snarl. “Why kidnap Emily and Jacob?” I ask.

  “Patience, Pete. I’m getting to it. I started messing with the girls who worked at the ESMR station a long time ago. It was super easy to keep tabs on them since we’d run into them so much, and our schedules matched up. First were Janice and April, but they bolted. That’s okay; challenge accepted. Your little Sarah, she was so tiny and meek. She didn’t even bother putting up much of a fight those nights I’d visit her at the station.” He stops to look at me. “She never told you about those nights, did she?”