Hand Me Down Evil (Hand Me Down Trilogy) (7 page)

Under normal circumstances, I would have already bolted out of the house, took off running, and never looked back. But my quest to find Amber clouded my judgment. I should never have come to Catherine’s house by myself, and I had made a mistake in telling Eleanor to keep my whereabouts a secret. Mark had warned me not to do something foolish, and I had definitely acted out of line when I decided to go running off to Catherine’s house alone. With that thought in mind, I spun around, sprinted down the stairs, through the kitchen, the living room, and out the back door.

I
was about to make a rush toward my car just when I heard Cuddy Boy meowing again. The soft, pathetic whimper was coming from the direction of the garage.

Bewildered, I lingered for a brief moment in the backyard, debating whether or not I should leave the cat in the garage and get out fast. But when the pitiful cry caught my attention again, I decided to rescue the cat.

“Poor Cuddy Boy,” I uttered under my breath. “Now that Catherine’s in the hospital, I’ll take you home with me.” I moved to the garage and tried to pry open the front door. It did not budge.

The keypad on the side of the garage caught my attention. Catherine had told me the code years ago, and it was an easy one to remember. The code was simply 4321. I punched those numbers into the keypad. Nothing happened. Holding my breath, I punched in the code again. Still, nothing. Perhaps Catherine had changed the code. It had been quite a while since I visited the old woman. The last time I had punched in the garage door code was two Christmases ago when Catherine asked me to help her pull the artificial Christmas tree out of the garage so that she could decorate it later.

Cuddy Boy was meowing profusely now. He sensed my presence on the other side of the door. I could not leave him alone in the garage. There had to be a way to help get the cat out. It may be a while before Catherine returned from the hospital, and Cuddy Boy would die of starvation if I abandoned him. How did he get in there in the first place? He could have stumbled inside, and the wind could have shut the side door behind him, I assured myself.

That’s it. That was the answer. I remembered that the garage had a side door which Catherine almost never locked. I went to the side of the garage and was thrilled when I was able to push the door open with great ease.

“Cuddy Boy, come here,” I whispered.

The garage was dark, with the exception of a single ray of light that streamed in from the slightly opened door.

I scanned the garage. It was cluttered with junk. There were boxes stuffed with yard tools, an old typewriter desk, an artificial Christmas tree, some folding chairs, a white poker table, a broom, a rake, a snow shovel, some gardening tools, two large garbage cans, and many old pieces of yard furniture.

Just when I took another step, Cuddy Boy dashed out from behind a garbage can and tried to jump over a few large boxes, but his foot got tangled up in some Christmas light decorations. He struggled fiercely to get loose, baring his teeth and making pathetic, high pitched gurgling sounds. I had never seen him so anxious.

“I’ll help you out,” I said in a soft voice as I reached for Cuddy Boy’s paw and squeezed to pull it loose.

But the brown and gray tiger striped cat, who had usually greeted me with a warm purr, growled and threw me a threatening glare. When I sank to my knees beside the cat and grabbed him, that was when I saw it. Cuddy Boy’s entire body was covered with little specs of blood. On the floor were a half dozen bb gun pellets smeared with blood. Cuddy Boy managed to free his paw from the last of the tangled cords, and he scurried through the side door and out of sight, whimpering and limping as he ran.

M
y stomach muscles tightened and a sense of bewilderment and confusion gripped me as I bolted out of the garage, raced through the backyard, and down the driveway toward the Lincoln. All of my suspicions about someone being in the house had been correct. Someone had tried to hurt Cuddy Boy and had locked him in the garage. Whoever it was might still be in the house.

Someone probably had been in the bedroom and had recently lit the candle, I thought. And how about the sound of the car door slamming? What about that?

So many things had caught my attention, numerous warning signals, but I had chosen to ignore my gut reaction. My blind desire to find Amber had indeed clouded my judgment. Who would be crazy enough to visit Catherine’s house alone after some lunatic attacker left her injured at the side of a stream?

I took a deep breath as I reached the Lincoln, clutched the door handle, and tried to force open the door. It was locked.

I did not lock it when I exited the car
, I thought. I remembered tossing my windbreaker on the front passenger seat and just slipping out of the car.
I did not lock the door
.

“Uggghhhhh!” I heard myself scream as I fumbled in my jean pocket for the keys.

Clumsily, I tried to stuff the key in the door but my fingers were frozen. The key slipped out my hand, and I sank to my knees, scrabbled in the grass, and snatched it back up. I could not muster the energy to coordinate my mind and my hand to work together toward getting the door open.

Then I happened to glance through the window at the passenger side front seat. My windbreaker was not there. Someone had been in my car, taken my jacket, and locked the door. Someone was still out there, perhaps even watching me this very minute, I thought.

My heart beat wildly in my chest.

If only Mark knew where I was going. He would rush over in an instant. I was sure of that. But then again, I had taken great pains to make sure that Eleanor did not reveal my whereabouts to him.

I finally succeeded in opening the door, and the moment that I tried to climb inside, I heard what sounded like a high pitched gunshot pierce the air. The driver’s side window shattered into a hundred pieces which were now scattered on the ground. Someone has a gun, I thought. If I tried to jump inside the car, I would be a sitting duck. The shots continued to ring out in my direction and hit the driver’s side door with a metallic bang.

Terrified, I dropped to the ground, crawled as fast as I could around to the front of the car and hid behind the passenger side front tire. The sound of metal pellets hitting the car resonated in my ear. If whoever was out there got a hold of me, I would not have a chance. As my heart skipped a beat, I struggled to rise to my feet, and then I made a mad dash for the woods.

I sensed that someone was following me, and I gave a low, pleading scream like that of an helpless, trapped animal as I pushed my way through the low hanging tree branches and stumbled around the scattering of bushes and broken, dry twigs.

This part of the woods was not familiar to me, but I recalled Catherine telling me once that the woods extended for about six miles north and west and that the neighboring town sat on the other side of the timbers. I staggered deeper and deeper into the dense tangle of trees and shrubs, with the sound of footsteps trailing close behind me.

N
ot much sunlight could seep through the deep woods, and I felt some protection under cover of semi darkness.

At that moment I realized how out of shape I was. My breath came in violent gasps, and my legs ached, but I did not have the luxury of stopping for a moment to catch my breath. I felt like a prey being chased by a predator where the ultimate prize was survival.

I had always been a fighter. When Mom left, I took care of my siblings, kept the family together. Although other teenagers in similar circumstances would have given up, I made sacrifices to ensure that my sisters had a decent life. And now, after all of the hard work that I had done to keep my family intact, Amber was missing, Phyllis was in the hospital, and I was being pursued. Not to mention what happened to Catherine, although technically she was no longer a part of my family after Mom divorced Peter.

And Cuddy Boy, with his pathetic little meow, calling out to me for help. Did the cat approach its tormentor in a friendly gesture, expecting to be petted? Would the cat ever return to Catherine’s house after he had been brutalized?

And now, someone was chasing me. I had unwittingly thrown myself in harm’s way.

Instead of sprinting in a straight line, I turned slightly to the left and headed north where the woods seemed denser and darker. I kept jogging for at least another five minutes, with the sound of tree branches cracking behind me.

After I veered off the predictable path, I could no longer hear anyone trailing me. Had I lost him? Or was it a she? For the first time since the bb gun incident near the Lincoln, I had the nerve to look back. By now, my sprint had been reduced to a pitiful stagger. My face bore gashes from the low hanging tree branches and twigs that tore into my flesh as I tried to escape.

As best as I could tell, no one was following me. Either my pursuer stopped chasing me or he or she was hiding behind a tree waiting for me to turn back and make a run for my car. Of course, I had no intention of ever going back to Catherine’s house.

Not now, not ever.

I hid behind the wide trunk of a Sycamore tree and strained to catch my breath. Not too long after that, I started coughing. Unconsciously, I cupped my hands on my mouth to muffle the loud hacking sounds.

If only Mark could see me now, could realize what a fool I had been. He had turned to face me right before he headed for the hospital to visit Catherine, and he pleaded with me not to do anything risky in his absence. From the look on his face, I had gathered that he thought that I might try and do something crazy. That is why he made me promise not to do anything foolish. It was as if though he could read my thoughts before they even occurred. Could he have known that I would try to do something this reckless in his absence even before I realized what my next action would be?

I shook my head from side to side. Impossible. How could Mark know such things? I gave a sigh. Maybe he liked me so much that he could sense my feelings. I had heard that couples who have been together for a long time eventually can read one another’s thoughts. Impossible again, I thought. Yesterday was the first day that Mark had spoken to me. Strictly speaking, we had only known each other for less than one day!

If only I had listened to him. I would be at home now, safe and sound. At least I would be near Tally. Did Mark return from his visit to the hospital, and was he at my home waiting for me? I wondered if Eleanor would finally break her promise and reveal my whereabouts to Mark. But the overwhelming question that I kept asking myself was whether or not Mark really cared about me. Did he
really
care?

I could hear the sound of leaves rustling a few yards to my left. Was someone moving slowly to the spot where I was hiding? I summoned up the courage to peep from behind the Sycamore just in time to see a squirrel scurrying up a tree. But where was my pursuer? Why did I no longer hear footsteps? Tired and weary, I wiped the sweat from my brow, held my breath, and closed my eyes.

Now what?

If my follower was close behind, once I left the relative safety of the tree, I might be an easy target, I thought. And I was all alone in the woods. Eleanor did not even know exactly where I was. She thought I was at Catherine’s house, not in the woods. What a bizarre predicament I had carved out for myself.

I swallowed hard. I could not just remain in hiding behind the tree forever.

There were all sorts of strange noises in the woods, rustling sounds, birds chirping, small animals dashing through the dense underbrush. All of my senses were on high alert as I waited and waited. Then what? After I was done waiting, where would I go? I certainly could not start walking back in the direction from which I had come. If I walked straight ahead, I would be heading deeper and deeper into the woods which did not end for miles. I was far away from the main road, but at least I knew that it was to my right.

Perhaps I could try inching my way toward the main path, darting from tree to tree. Then, I would stay as close enough to the road as I could under the cover of the woods without actually getting back onto the path. The quickest way to head toward Grayling was to run past Catherine’s house again. But that would be too risky. If I headed in the opposite direction, though, I would have to walk for miles before I reached the closest town. I shook my head, not knowing what to do.

The sun was directly overhead now, sending sharp shadows through the woods. It’s got to be about noon, I thought. It’s been quite a while since I left home. Mark should be back by now. Hopefully, Eleanor would be worried enough to tell him where I had gone. But maybe not. She might have thought that I had stopped off at a grocery store or something. I couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.

As the frigid wind ripped through the trees, I shivered and clenched my jaw and wrapped my arms around my chest.

And waited.

A
t first I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me. A familiar noise was coming from far away and then it sounded like it was getting closer.

It was the siren of a police car.

Instinctively, I bolted from my hiding spot and started sprinting in the direction of the main road where I knew I would find safety. But I was not able to run fast enough since I stumbled and fell many times on shrubs and stems and collapsed tree branches. Twigs scratched my face as I staggered to shove my way through the timbers.

The wailing sound of the police car faded away, and then I was alone again.

But a minute later came a second wailing sound and yet a third. I had just reached the edge of the road when a blue patrol car raced past me. Just a few more feet, and I would be out on the main road.

Then a terrible twist of events took place. I heard someone running behind me again, and I jerked my head to look back. That’s when things happened so quickly. I thought that someone had hit me over the head as a sudden jolt of pain pierced my forehead. Unsteadily, I dropped to my knees, and everything began to look so blurry. I clutched at a tree, scrapping my hands on the bark. I struggled to rise to my feet, summoning every bit of energy that I could muster. I ordered my legs to move, but instead, I fell backward onto the ground. There was a terrible throbbing in my head and an aching in my limbs, and I was drifting in and out of muddled consciousness.