Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) (36 page)

Miriana made good on her promise and told Emily how Danny had saved her life. She was so exhausted, she could barely get out the words. But the ecstatic expression on Danny’s face made the effort worthwhile.

After being given corn bread and beans, Miriana put on one of Emily’s flannel nightgowns and put to bed on a cot with a rough, woolen blanket pulled up to her chin. She sighed, rolled over on her side, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

The wind blew her hair. Michael sat beside her, at the wheel of a red convertible parked beside a sparkling lake. The radio played country and western music. In her dream, she was happy.

But that image faded into blackness. Something heavy pressed on her chest. She fought for air and smelled rank alcohol and rotten breath. She was no longer dreaming.

There was a man on top of her. He was squeezing her breast, pushing himself against her crotch. Oh, my God! It’s the one-eyed man again! He found me!

She clawed at his face with her nails. He grabbed her wrists and put his mouth on hers. She struggled to throw him off, kicking at him, but he was too strong.

“Go ahead, girl,” the man slurred huskily. “Squirm all you want. I like it better that way.”

He released one of her wrists and clamped his hand over her mouth. Miriana tried to bite him, but only tasted the dirt and sweat on his hand.

Suddenly, the man yelled, “Goddammit!” He removed his hand from her mouth. She gasped for air. But she was still crushed by his weight.

She heard the man groan and then heard Danny’s voice and remembered where she was. It wasn’t the one-eyed man lying on top of her; it was Jefferson Farrell. Danny seemed frightened. He murmured, “Bad daddy, bad daddy.” He repeated it over and over again. “Bad daddy.”

Farrell groaned again but didn’t move. Something wet and sticky seeped onto Miriana’s chest. She shoved with all her strength and rolled Farrell off her. He landed on the floor with a thud. Then Danny’s mother entered the room, carrying a flashlight.

“What’s going on out . . ..?” Then Emily shrieked. She looked down at her husband lying in a spreading pool of blood. Danny stood over him with a carving knife in his hand.

Danny backed against the wall, still holding the knife. His eyes were saucers; his chin trembled.

“Daddy was hurtin’ my friend,” he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Why did Daddy do that?” Danny stepped forward and dropped to his knees next to his father. Sobbing, he laid the knife on Farrell’s chest and began rocking back and forth, hugging himself.

Emily rushed over to Jefferson’s still form and put her ear near his mouth. Dammit, he’s breathing, she thought. For a moment she had considered how her life would change with her reprobate husband dead. “He’s still alive,” she said to Miriana, “we’ve got to get him into the pickup, take him to the hospital.” She grabbed his feet while Miriana took his arms. They dragged him across the floor and out onto the porch. Emily ran to the truck and backed it over to the edge of the porch. Half-dragging, half-lifting Farrell, they put him in the truck bed.

“Danny,” Emily called. No answer. She called again and again. Miriana looked around, but didn’t see the boy. “Let’s go!” Emily yelled. “Get in the cab. You drive. We’ve got to hurry.”

Miriana moved as though in a stupor. She felt like nothing was real. Reacting mechanically, she pushed the shifter into DRIVE on the old, dilapidated pickup. The vehicle lurched forward, snapping her head back. The engine died. She turned the key again, starting the motor. The truck rolled forward, then gathered speed when she pressed down on the accelerator. The wheels spewed dirt clouds in the truck’s wake, obscuring the front of the Farrell cabin. Miriana eased up on the accelerator where the dirt road met the highway. She glanced over her shoulder through the empty glass panel space behind her head and saw Emily cradling her husband in the truck bed. The truck bounced off the old rutted road onto the highway paving.

Emily shouted directions at Miriana through the window space. The trip took twenty-five minutes. At the hospital, Miriana saw that Jefferson Farrell’s blood had soaked Emily’s bathrobe and covered her arms and legs. While two men in white shirts and pants put Danny’s father on a gurney and wheeled him away, Miriana noticed for the first time she was still wearing one of Emily Farrell’s nightgowns – now stained with Jefferson Farrell’s blood.

Miriana and Emily had sat silently in adjoining chairs in the hospital waiting room for fifteen minutes before Emily finally spoke. “What’d the sonofabitch do, try to rape you?” Emily asked.

Miriana nodded, head bowed, shoulders slumped, hands pressed together between her knees.

“Boy, I picked a winner when I married that asshole.”

Miriana looked over at Emily. “Sorry,” she said.

Emily patted Miriana’s hand. “For what, sweetie? For being beautiful? For being young? For being desirable? Ain’t your fault.”

Silence again. Emily gripped Miriana’s hand and gave it a squeeze, then she released it, stood up, and walked over to the bank of windows at the end of the room. The first rays of the morning sun showed over the green hills in the distance. She heard Miriana say, in a small, defeated voice, “I must use telephone,” when the waiting room door suddenly flew open.

Don Mechem and one of his deputies burst into the waiting room.

“My God, Emily! What the hell happened?” Mechem said, rushing over to where she stood. “The hospital called and said Jefferson’s here with a knife wound. They say he’s in a bad way.”

Emily turned and faced the Sheriff, a man she’d dated in high school. She noted the concerned look on Mechem’s face, the sympathy showing in his eyes. All Emily could do was shake her head. She didn’t dare speak at that moment, not trusting her ability to control her emotions.

“You’re covered with blood,” Mechem said, looking down at her clothes. “Are you hurt?” He knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

Emily steeled herself, forcing her fragile emotions deeper under the surface. “I’m fine, Don. But you’d better sit down,” she said, taking his arm and leading him to a bank of chairs a few feet away. “It’s a long story.”

Mechem told his deputy to check on Jefferson Farrell’s condition, and then sat down next to Emily, again holding her hand. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me, Emily. I got all night.” He glanced over at Miriana, then turned back to Emily.

“It was that old fool’s fault,” she said. “He got liquored up and tried to jump on that girl over there.” Emily pointed a finger at Miriana who still sat in the same chair, bent over, her long black hair hanging over her face, staring down at the floor.

Mechem looked at Miriana again. “Who is she?”

“Friend of Danny’s. He brought her home late last night. She’d been beat up. Poor thing was all tuckered out.”

Mechem looked askew at Emily, wondering what kind of young woman would be hanging out with Emily’s son. But he let the moment pass. He’d question the girl next.

Emily told the Sheriff how Danny protected the girl from Jefferson. After she finished, Mechem patted Emily’s shoulder and asked, “Is that it?”

“No, there’s more.” Emily then recounted the story Miriana told her about being kidnapped and how Danny rescued her from the cabin at the Pineview Lodge.

Sheriff Mechem felt his breath catch in his throat. Leaping to his feet, he cut Emily off. “Hold it right there, Emily. I need to go over and ask the young lady a question.”

Mechem crossed the waiting room and sat next to Miriana, who raised her head and looked up at him expectantly.

“Would you please tell me your full name, miss?” Mechem said in a slightly tremulous voice, unable to contain the sudden and urgent excitement he felt.

Miriana slowly nodded, sitting upright in the chair. “Miriana Georgadoff. I am–”

Sheriff Mechem’s jaw sagged. His “Oh, my God!” startled Miriana and she jerked in her chair, bringing her hands to her chest. She pursed her lips and wrinkled her forehead. “What is it?” she asked.

“Stay right there and don’t move,” Mechem ordered. He rose from his chair and walked across the room to the courtesy phone sitting on an end table. He punched the zero button and, when the hospital operator came on the line, said, “This is Sheriff Don Mechem. I want you–”

“Hey, Donny, it’s Claire. I got the night–”

“Not now, Claire. I want you to listen real close.” He read a number to her from a card he’d taken from his shirt pocket. “Connect me to that number. This is an emergency.”