BlackWind (10 page)

“Damn!” she finally pronounced, realizing she'd missed him altogether.

She hadn't thought to check the football field, and would not have dreamed of venturing into the boy's locker room to search for him.

If she had, she would have found three of Sean Cullen's attackers: Brent Spivy and Harold Gleeson in the locker room with bloody noses and black eyes, and Bobby Thompson sprawled near the ten-yard line with a fractured jaw.

When the phone rang at 5:00 that afternoon, Bronwyn nearly jumped out of her skin. Grabbing the receiver, hoping against hope it wasn't Sean canceling their meeting, she was stunned when Dave gave her the news about the three ballplayers.

“But that's not all!” Dave told her. “Brad Forrester is at Albany General with two broken arms, and they found Garrett Dawes unconscious in the Burger Joint's restroom. Somebody beat the crap outta him!”

“Who did it?” Bronwyn asked breathlessly.

“Don't know. They say the ones who jumped ‘em were wearing stocking masks.”

She laughed. “You're kidding! I bet they know who did it, or else got a good look at them. Who do you think it could have been?”

“We're playing Stanfield this weekend. Maybe some of their students. Who knows?”

“Are they going to be all right?” she asked, not really caring. She had never liked any of the five jocks.

“Oh, yeah, they'll be okay, but none of them are gonna be playing ball for a while!”

Bronwyn giggled. “That's a fate worse than death for those five.”

Dave's answering chuckle let her know he agreed, even though he and Bobby Thompson were friends. “Anyway, it'll be the talk of the town for a long, long time. Hey, you wanna get a shake at the Dairy Treat? I bet everyone's down there gabbing about it.”

She looked at her watch, gasped when she realized it was ten minutes to six. “Can't. I...I got something to do.”

“Like what, McGregor? Wash your hair?”

“Like homework.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she said and hung up before he could answer.

“Who were you talking to, dear?” her mother asked.

Bronwyn looked up, angry that her mother had been eavesdropping. “Davey. Did you hear about what happened to the football players?”

“Yes, and I think it's awful!” Deirdre shook her head. “What is the world coming to when our young men have to do things like that over a silly school rivalry?”

“I'm going to meet Davey at the Diary Treat and go to the hospital to see some of the guys. He's gonna buy me a burger, so don't hold supper for me.”

Her mother frowned. “Well, don't be gone too long. Your father will worry.”

“I'll be back by eight.”

Sean was sitting on one of the picnic tables when Bronnie drove up. As soon as he saw her, he walked quickly to her car. “Let's go,” he said as he got in, his face tight.

“Which way?”

“Head north up Slappey,” he replied, slumping down in the seat.

Her heart beating furiously, Bronwyn drove out of the park. She cast him a look and frowned. “What happened?”

“I've tried to behave like I know I'm supposed to,” he said as though talking to himself. “It's been hard, but I've managed to do what was expected.” He turned on the radio, flipping through the stations until he found one with, what Bronwyn had termed, “Old Man's Stuff.”

“Ugh,” she said, hating the strains of supermarket music.

“Anyone following us?”

She bit her lip and looked in the rear view mirror as she pulled onto Palmyra Road. They weren't that far from the hospital, and she was nervous, half expecting to see her father's car in hot pursuit. She knew if they saw her with Sean, her parents would be furious. She hated to think what her father might do. “I don't see any one, but if Daddy...”

“I said I'd protect you, and I will,” Sean said in a harsh tone.

She looked at him. “I wish you'd stop reading my mind, Cullen!”

He grinned nastily. “That talent might come in handy one day,
mo Chroí
.” He shrugged. “Too bad it doesn't always work when it should with other people, or I'd have known what I was in for last night.”

“Something happened and I want to know what.”

He twisted in the seat until he faced her. “There's an old saying that fits this situation. It goes, ‘
Ná bac le mac an bhacaigh is ní bacfaidh mac an bhacaigh leat
.'”

“Which means what?”

“'Don't bother with the beggar's son and he won't bother with you,'” he replied, then turned to stare out the windshield. “Well, the trouble is, they messed one time too damned many with this beggar's son!”

Bronwyn stopped at the intersection of Palmyra and Slappey, looked south, then headed north on the busy highway. She threw him a look of surprise. “You beat the crap outta Bobby and his friend's, didn't you?” When he didn't answer, she looked at him. “You did, didn't you?”

“I heard it was five masked men from Stanfield.” He chuckled.

“Yes, well, none of them are about to admit it was a lone man who did so much damage!”

“Five on one sounds better, huh?” he snarled. “There's real honor in that, right?”

The anger in his tone made her wince. “They jumped you? All five of them?”

She didn't expect him to answer. His steady look as their eyes met needed no words. “Sons of bitches. I'm glad you beat the crap outta them!”

“
Fillean meal ar an meallaire
.”

“I know that one—'Evil returns to the evil doer.’ That's one of my grandma's sayings.”

“I can't prove it, but I'm willing to bet your father had something to do with it.”

Bronnie snapped her head around. “Oh, Sean, no!”

“He warned me, and I sure as hell wouldn't put it past him. Would you?”

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don't want to believe he would stoop to something so mean.”

“Why would anyone else come after me, Bronwyn? Who else would care?”

“I don't know,” she whispered, feeling the threat of tears burning her eyes. She loved her father, but she knew he had a bad temper. It was not inconceivable that he would ask Bobby to help take care of the situation. Her shoulders slumped. “Where are we going?”

“To Mosby's.”

She felt the blood begin to pound thickly in her ears. A strange heaviness formed between her thighs. “T...the motel.”

“Aye.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you have an objection to that destination,
mo Chroí
?”

“No.”

After a long moment of silence, he tightened his grip on her. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, she nodded. “Yes.”

“You know what will happen if we go in there.”

She nodded again, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. Sweat made her palms slick on the steering wheel, so she wiped her right hand on her pant leg.

“Tell me what you're thinking.”

She glanced at him. “You're so good at reading my mind,” she said, turning back to the road. “You tell
me
what I'm thinking.”

“I want you to say it aloud.”

For a few ticks of the dashboard clock she said nothing, then shrugged. “I'm wondering why you want to do this now.”

“You think I want to make love to you to get back at your father?”

They were only a mile from Mosby's Dew Drop Inn, so she took her foot off the accelerator, slowing the car. “Is it?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

He pointed to the side of the road. “Pull off here.”

She didn't question him, but nosed the car onto the shoulder of the road. Putting the gear into neutral, she made sure it wasn't going to roll forward, then twisted in the seat to face him. “Okay, let's hear it.”

“I told you I was leaving. I'm going to enlist in the Air Force.”

“I think that's stupid, but go on.”

“They'll draft me anyway,” he snapped. “The war is going to escalate whether we like it or not.”

“You're probably right, but I don't like you putting yourself in harm's way.”

“Better I enlist than be drafted into a killing unit, don't you think? The thought of taking a life, human or otherwise, makes me sick to my soul, Bronnie.”

The thought of him killing another human being made her ill, too, but the thought of someone killing him sent a shaft of pure terror through her heart. She reached out to him, taking his hand. “I would die if anything happened to you!”

He smiled. “No, you wouldn't.”

“She snatched back her hand. “How can you say that?” she demanded, tears flooding her eyes. “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” he said softly. “And because I love you, I want us to be together. I want to remember how it feels to have you in my arms,
mo Chroí
. I want to make you completely mine, to seal the bargain between us. I want you to remember you are my bondmate and I want to know you will be waiting for me when I come home. I have to know you belong to me and no other.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, but Bronwyn ignored them. She turned, put the car in gear, and pulled onto the highway. Her heart pounding furiously, she said nothing until the garish motel sign came into view. As she clicked on the blinker, she threw him a look.

“I hope you brought protection,” she said in a firm voice.

He patted the right pocket of his jeans. “I did.”

She pulled into the oyster-shell driveway of the seedy “no-tell motel.”

Dorrie was panting by the time she finished. The bathroom was thick with the copper smell of Tymothy Cullen's blood and the pink and black ceramic tile speckled crimson from the spray thrown up by the chain saw's track. She sat on the toilet seat to rest and wiped the back of her slick arm across her blood-splattered forehead.

Tym's dismembered body lay cooling in the bathtub, the shower washing away what remained of his congealing blood. On the floor sat a box of plastic lawn bags into which Dorrie intended to pack his remains for disposal. In the living room, the stereo was playing. She had turned it on louder than normal to drown out the harsh sound of the chain saw.

It had been difficult moving Tym from the kitchen to the bathroom, but once she had pushed him from his chair onto an old quilt, she managed to drag him the ten feet down the hall. Having taken down the shower curtains from both bathrooms, she had sandwiched the vinyl under the quilt so no blood would seep onto the hall carpeting. Once inside the bathroom, she strained to get him into the tub. Careful not to allow the chain saw track to dig into the porcelain, she began sawing his limbs into foot-long pieces, humming an old Patsy Cline tune as she worked. His torso she attacked with a vengeance, the blood splatters from his ruptured organs making her grimace with disgust. Now, her butchering finished, she was bone-tired, but knew her work was just beginning.

Tym's remains had to be double-sealed in the bags and carried carefully to the car trunk. The bath and kitchen would have to be scoured, all signs of the murder scrupulously removed.

She kept a close eye on the clock, knowing Sean wouldn't be home until supper. It was a just past 2:30 when she began carrying what was left of her husband to the car. By 4:00, the kitchen was as pristine as it had been before she cut Tym's throat. By 5:00, the bathroom had been returned to order, although the tub was minus its shower curtain and there was a small knick in the porcelain. Dorrie shrugged. No one would know what had caused the nick.

After taking one last look at the bathroom, she went into the bedroom, got her pocketbook, and headed for the car. As the grandfather clock in the living room chimed 6:00, she backed out of the driveway. Soon thereafter, Dorrie Cullen tossed the first of Tym Cullen's remains into a dumpster outside the Lee County high school.

“You always wanted to finish high school,” she said as she got back in the car. “Well, leastways you'll finish up in one or two.”

Her next stop would be the dumpster at the high school up in Americus, 30 miles away. “Or three.”

She giggled.

Bronwyn kept her eyes averted from the motel's office while Sean was inside registering them. She was too afraid—and too ashamed—to do more than stare resolutely across the rundown parking lot. When Sean skirted the front of the car and got in, she could not look at him.

“Number eight,” he said quietly.

She nodded and cranked the car. Her face hot, she drove to the shabby brown door and winced when she parked. The metal sign had lost one of its screws, for the number hung sideways, looking like the infinity sign from a popular medical drama of a few years earlier.

Sean touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I love you.”

She took a deep breath and turned off the ignition. “I love you, too.”

“I know it's not the place you dreamed about, but it's all I could afford,” he said. Bronwyn could hear the hurt in his voice. “And...”

She turned to look at him.

“It's safer than the motels in town.”

She wondered if by “safer” he meant “physically” or “health-wise.” When he smiled sadly, she cocked her shoulders in helplessness. “I can't help thinking it,” she said, growing used to him picking her thoughts from the ether.

“Despite its reputation, they do have to keep the place clean. If it doesn't look clean, I'll get another room.”

She nodded, trying to smile, but her lips felt frozen. She looked away and could not stop the shudder than ran through her. The thought of going inside the motel room terrified her.

“Bronnie.”

She hung her head. “I'm sorry.”

He slid across the seat and took her into his arms, cradling her head in the hollow of his shoulder. When she began to sob, he tightened his grip. “Shush.”

“I can't go in there, Sean.” She was trembling, her hands clutching at his shirt. “I just can't!”

He kissed the top of her head. “Then we won't.”

She pushed back from him and looked into his face. Her eyes were thick with teardrops. “I...”

“No,” he said, putting a finger across her lips. “You don't have to explain. I understand.”

“But you paid your money and...” she said, her lips quivering.

He placed a soft kiss on her lips to silence her. “It doesn't matter.”