A Shadow on the Ground (27 page)

“Not a chance.”

“I mean it, Morgan. Do not move.”

“You keep saying that like I'm going to do it. I’ve had it with you.”

He pointed the gun toward the black sky and clasped his wrist in his other hand with a practiced assurance that sent a chill through her. Whatever made her think she knew this man? Or would ever know him? He had lied to her. Betrayed her trust. And now he was standing outside her apple barn, ready to crash through the door and fire a bullet into her ex-husband.

“Open the door,” he said calmly. “And stay behind me.”

She squeezed the handle and pulled the barn door toward her as quietly as she could. When the opening was large enough, Gage stepped through.

Fluorescent lights burned brightly overhead, illuminating the dusty corners, reflecting off the apple butter equipment. Gage held the gun in both hands with his arms straight out. He turned quickly to the left and right, then upwards to the loft, his eyes darting all around. Satisfied they were alone, he pointed toward the back door. A fine film of perspiration glistened across his upper lip.

He pushed the narrow rear door leading to the yard behind the barn with his foot. A gust of wind caught the door like a sail, banging it hard against the outer wall. White wood smoke billowed past Gage into the interior of the barn. The bittersweet aroma of scorched apples rushed through Morgan’s sinuses. Outside, the enormous built-in kettle sat beneath a work lamp Sean had attached to the corner of the barn. Light sliced through the brown apple mash. Rolling bubbles exploded on the surface.

Gage stepped across the threshold. He held Cal's loaded gun in front of him like a saber. He stopped beside the kettle. “Oh, Christ,” he said. He spun around. Shock and rage spilled across his face. “Jeremy!” he called, softly at first, his voice a frightened, mournful cry. Then louder as the terror in his heart struck him full force. “Jeremy!
Jeremy! Jeremy!”

Morgan waved her way through the drifts of white smoke. “Gage, what—”

“Don't come over here!” he cried. “Get back in the barn.”

But it was too late. Her gaze had already caught a movement in the copper kettle, a dark log-like cylinder gently bobbing up and down. She wiped her burning eyes and waited for the smoke to clear. Above the thick, simmering liquid, a hand attached to the buttoned cuff of a denim work shirt surfaced. It paused in midair, as if beckoning her closer, then sank into the bubbling brown mash.

Morgan swallowed a scream.

A death mask of Denny's face, red and bloated and hideous, rolled up out of the swirling liquid with its eyes wide open. Strings of waxy flesh where his eyelids should have been dripped across the bridge of his nose. A gaping gash cut across the right side of his forehead, splayed open to reveal a wedge of white skull. He bobbed for a moment like a top heavy pool toy then flipped over onto his face. His braided ponytail undulated in the boiling apples like a silver snake.

Morgan stood paralyzed. She stared at the arc of blue plaid covering Denny's back, unable to breathe. Unable to look away.

How many times had she wished Denny dead? A hundred? A thousand? But not like this. Not anything like this.

Gage grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the kettle. “Don't look at him. Look at me.
Morgan
!”

She forced herself to shift her gaze to Gage’s face.

“Help me find Jeremy and Sean.”

Sean.
Where was Sean?
A fresh rush of adrenaline shot through her veins, snapping her brain awake. “Sean!” she shouted, turning first one way then the other.
“Sean!”

Maybe Jeremy and Sean were hiding somewhere together. But where? She looked around frantically then kicked at the stacks of wooden crates beside the kettle. She shoved them out of the way, lifted them up, looked beneath them. She knelt beside the wide work table her grandfather had nailed together with two-by-fours. Jeremy was small but resourceful. If Sean and Denny had fought, he might have crawled beneath the table to hide in the shadows.

“Jeremy?” she called.

No answer.

“Where are they?” Gage stood with his back to her, staring at the top of Pip’s Hill. “Do you think they’re in the woods?” Bathed in a wash of pale moonlight, the scrubby weeds growing on the hill looked exotic and beautiful as they moved in the breeze.

Morgan started for the shed.

“I already tried the shed door. It's locked.”

A low moan thrummed beneath the work table.

“Jeremy!” Gage cried.

Morgan whirled around. She dropped to her knees and ducked her head under the wooden slats. “I looked under here, but I couldn’t see anything.” Gage squatted beside her. He peered into the blackness.

“Jeremy? Son, where are you?”

“It's me,” Ethan said. He stretched out his arm. “I think I passed out.” She could barely make out his lanky form lying curled in the corner. “I can't move my leg. Denny pushed me down, and I fell over a crate.”

“Where's Jeremy?” Gage demanded. He reached into the far corner beneath the table, clasped Ethan’s hand, and pulled him out.

“I don't know where the boy is,” Ethan said. “After the fight broke out, he took off.” He looked at Morgan. “I had a bad feeling about you tonight. That’s why I’m here. I tried to call, but it kept going to voicemail. I came over to make sure you were all right. When I got here, Denny was threatening Sean.” He grimaced. “
Owww
, that hurts. I think he broke my foot.”

Gage lifted Ethan and set him on a crate, then paced the length of the yard. “
Jeremy
! Where are you, son? Everything's okay now.
Jeremy! Jeremy, answer me!
”

“Where's Sean?” Morgan grabbed Ethan’s open collar. “Where is my brother?”

Ethan held his foot and groaned. He pointed to the supply shed. “In there. Denny worked him over pretty good then locked the door. I think he's unconscious.”

Morgan’s heart crashed against her ribs. She ran to the shed and felt beneath the eaves until she located the extra key hanging from a nail. With shaking hands, she unlocked the door and flipped on the light. A single bulb hung from its cord like a noose. She looked around, panicked, until she spotted Sean lying on his back beside the lawnmower.

“Sean!”
She ran to him and dropped to her knees. His right eye had swollen shut. Purple welts mixed with dirt and sweat covered his jaw. His lower lip laid split open and bleeding. Blood trickled down his neck. She put her hand on his chest. She knew better than to move him.

“Gage!” she shouted. “Over here! I need help.”

Gage was suddenly beside her. “How is he?”

“Alive but unconscious.”

“I can’t get a signal on my cell. I’m going back to the house to call for help on the land line.”

“Any sign of Jeremy?”

“Ethan said he ran up Pip’s Hill.”

“Into the woods?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then I know where he went.”

“Where? Tell me.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Morgan, tell me!”

“It's a secret place I showed him, about half a mile in. It’ll be faster if I go. You’ll never find it at night.” She reached behind the door. “Sean always keeps a flashlight back—here it is.” She flipped the switch and shone the amber arc of light across Sean's still face. “He looks bad.”

“Can't I come?” He grabbed her arm. “Jeremy’s my son. If anything happens to him—”

“You’ve got to stay with Sean and Ethan. I know exactly where Jeremy is. I'll bring him back. I promise. You have to trust me.” She looked into his eyes. “Like I trusted you.”

****

The spit in Gage's mouth turned to ash. His heartbeat thudded in his neck. The panic he'd managed to hold at bay in front of Cal pressed against his chest until it ached. His gaze tried to focus on everything at once, do what he’d been trained to do. But he couldn’t move. He sat helpless while images and sounds slid from real time into slow motion: Sean bleeding on the floor, Ethan moaning outside, Morgan standing at the door, looking at him like he was the scum of the earth. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that he was getting what he deserved for deceiving her. But all he could manage to say was, “I didn't know it would feel like this.”

“What?”

“Being a real father. Not knowing where your child is. Whether he's safe or hurt or—”

“I'll find him,” she said.

“Please, Morgan. That's my life—that’s my heart out there.”

Morgan nodded. “I'll find him.” Then she was gone.

“It’s okay,” Sean mumbled. “She knows those woods like the back of her hand.”

“Hey, you’re awake,” Gage said. “I think you’re gonna be okay. I’m going for help.”

“No, wait.” Sean put his hand on Gage’s arm. “I know who you are. I’ve known all along. You’re the guy Morgan fell in love with at the Harvest Festival. The one who broke her heart.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was selfish. Harlan had researched your company. He was sure you could save the orchard.” He swallowed and squinted up at him. “You’re not a bad guy, Gage. You just can’t forgive yourself. She still loves you. I think she’ll always love you.” He moved his leg and groaned. “I can’t walk. The son-of-a-bitch kicked me in the knee.”

“Well, he won’t be kicking anybody else.” Gage got up. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Gage turned. He’d almost forgotten about Ethan sitting on the crate, watching them. “How’s your foot?”

“It hurts,” Ethan said. “But don't worry about me. I'm tougher than I look.”

“Good. Just hang on. I’m going for help.”

Gage ran through the barn and down the path. He slammed through the gate at the bottom of the hill and raced up the steps. He pushed open the door then scanned the room for the phone sitting on the open roll top desk. He started for it, then stopped. The faint, high-pitched screech of the screen door sent a jolt rushing though his chest. He glanced over his shoulder.

A spray of white sparks exploded behind his eyes. He fell forward to his knees. The sound of metal striking metal hammered through his skull. The edge of his peripheral vision squirmed and crawled like an exposed ant colony beneath a rock.

Something pawed at his side pocket. He tried to lift his head.

The last thing he saw before the clanging in his brain took over, and the rolling waves of darkness obliterated his sight, was the shimmering outline of a person, standing over him, holding Cal's gun.

Chapter 17

Morgan grabbed her denim jacket off the hook by the barn door. She wished it was heavier. The brisk autumn wind cut through it like a knife. She wondered what Jeremy was wearing. The thought of him shivering in the cold, alone and afraid, quickened her steps.

She trudged up the hill, hardly feeling the thistles and scrub grass scrape her bare ankles. She kept her head down and put one foot in front of the other until she reached the top. The egg shaped moon darted in and out of a bank of feathery clouds, sweeping moonlight across the steep meadow. She had held off using the flashlight to save batteries, but once she reached the forest, she would have no choice but to switch it on.

She stopped to catch her breath. The muscles in her calves burned through to the bone. She leaned over, with her hands on her thighs, and gulped in air. Deer moved nearby, rustling through the thick underbrush, snorting softly to each other like ponies. Sean could imitate them perfectly. At dusk, when the does ventured into the orchard to snack on the windfall apples covering the ground, Sean would snort at them, and they would answer back.

Her gaze swept down the hill toward her grandparents’ house. The wistful, comforting ties of home rushed through her, filling her with love. Suddenly, she was ten years old again, galloping down the hill at dusk with the season’s first snowflakes swirling around her face, knowing that inside, her mother had lit the kitchen fire and was waiting for her with a bowl of hot potato soup and a pair of loving arms. Lights filtered through the filmy curtains, warm and inviting. No one would suspect anything bad had ever happened there. Of course, from the other side of the street, the house in Amityville probably looked normal, too.

Wisps of gray smoke floated up from the fire and drifted across the sky. From where Morgan stood, the fence blocked her view of the built-in kettle. But it was there. Bubbling away. As if it were sitting on the patio of some cannibal’s house in deepest, darkest Africa, with the body of her ex-husband sloshing up and down. The image of Denny's dead, ravaged face loomed behind her eyes, and she shoved it away. She couldn't think of that now. She couldn't think of anything. Not Gage, or his betrayal, or her brother lying unconscious and bleeding on the tool shed floor. She was on a mission. Maybe the most important mission of her life. The terrible ache in her heart would have to wait until she found Gage’s son and brought him home safely.

She zipped her jacket, switched on the flashlight, and set out through the thick woods. The harsh, labored sound of her own breath roared back at her with each faltering step. It had been a long time since she had walked through the woods at night. She’d forgotten how claustrophobic they could be with only a ten-foot path of light to follow. The dank, earthy smell of dead leaves and moss flooded her senses. It brought the memory of Gage touching her in the copse of birch trees crashing back into her head.

She’d known better than to trust him. Known better than to let him under her skin. How stupid she'd been. How pathetic and weak. He'd planned the whole thing: sending Sean the letter, showing up with his eleven-year-old son who just happened to be the same age as her dead child, prying open her heart and making her wish for the things she could never have. She hated him for deceiving her. But she hated herself more for letting him shine a light on her life and showing her how lonely and empty it was.

Her eyes filled with tears. She stumbled on the rocky path. “Damn him,” she said, batting at her face with the back of her hand. “Damn Gage Kirkland to hell and back.”

She ducked under a broken hickory branch and stopped. Where was she? She should have passed the line of chestnut trees by now, but everything looked different. She glanced around, trying to get her bearings. Then she swept the light across the vine covered trees in front of her and retraced her steps.
“Jeremy!”
she shouted.
“Where are you?”
Could she have veered off the path? It wasn't much of a path, just a wide, tamped down corridor local hunters used to bag the wild turkeys that screeched and scuttled through the woods. She hadn’t been walking very long, but the dark kept closing in. Her surroundings looked grotesque and unfamiliar. Maybe she hadn't gone far enough.