The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (17 page)

26

Rayanne
and Owen tramped along the stream for an hour. Ahead of them the terrain turned
swampy, and they were certain it meant the lake was closer. They drudged
through tall grass, where the water came up to their ankles. But the mud slowed
them down more, an almost bottomless sucking sludge that clung to their feet.

Rayanne
pulled a foot forward and lost her last sandal. She cringed, turning back, and
reached in the mud for it. After a moment, she gave up. She said, “I think we
lost those guys.”

“Good,
’cause I can’t keep this pace.” Owen walked a few feet behind her. “I need to
rest.”

Yet
they kept moving. The only way out was to track the channel to the lake and
hope they could attract someone’s attention or find the lake houses on the
south end.

A
few steps ahead, she stopped and turned to check on him. She returned to his
side and put a hand on his back, eyeing his bloody stomach. “You’re still
bleeding.”

“It’s
not as bad as it was.”

Wrapping
an arm around her shoulders, Owen leaned against her. She pushed forward,
trying desperately to move faster through the mud and grass. The water rose to
their knees, and then their waists.

“We’re
getting closer to the lake,” she said.

“Slow
down.” Owen’s deep voice startled her and she paused, holding him. “I heard
something.”

“You’re
imagining things.” She looked at the spindly cypress trees rising from strips
of grassy hills like tiny islands around them. She froze. Something splashed
ahead.

Owen
slipped backward and stood on his own, the muddy water leveling below his
crotch.

Rayanne
squinted, trying to see what lay ahead.

She
heard the splash again. A little louder, followed by another.

Rayanne
turned her head. It wasn’t in front of them. It was in the tall grass off to
their right.

Owen
moved away from the grass, toward Rayanne. She edged behind him, now hearing a
low rumble. The hiss came short and deep.

“Get
up in the grass,” Owen said, pushing on Rayanne’s shoulder. “Hurry.”

Rayanne
sloshed to the side, pulling her feet as quickly as she could out of the mud
that sucked at her bare feet. Owen was quicker reaching the grass, faltering a
moment as he tried to move his feet up the mushy bank, and then pulling himself
into the thick growth.

Across
the channel, two quick splashes disturbed the shallow water as a gator stuck
its broad snout into the open. It parted the grass, and took another quick,
jerky step. It hissed again.

Owen
pushed Rayanne farther up the grassy strip, toward a cluster of cypress trees.
She couldn’t reach them, and felt the mud hold tight to her bare foot, then
release her with a quick pop. She shot forward a couple of steps, splashing
rapidly until her feet sank again. Her body pitched forward. Swinging her arms
in front of her, she grasped desperately for a clump of grass, but pushed it
down with her as she splashed face first into the water.

Owen
glanced over his shoulder as the gator’s head disappeared. Slowing his pace,
Owen caught the back of Rayanne’s grimy brown T-shirt and pulled her up. “It’s
not coming after us.”

Rayanne
wiped mud from her hands. At Owen’s next step his leg sank deep into the muck.
He went to his side, his arms down in the water, trying to get his balance.
Rayanne caught him until he could regain his feet.

Then
Rayanne seemed to be stuck again. Her eyes widened in the moment it took her to
move her feet.

Separating
the tall grasses before them with their forearms, they struggled around the
side of the channel. They climbed onto a solid clump and, at long last, saw the
lake. The sun hung low along its western shore, and the surface shimmered in
the late afternoon light. Rayanne ran to the water’s edge, her bare feet
splashing in the surf. She looked out on the lake.

“There’s
no boats,” Rayanne said, her hand at her brows to shade her eyes. The bright
lake was empty. “No one’s out there.”

“Someone
will come along.” Owen groaned and his knees buckled.

Rayanne
caught him. She helped him to his feet, and noticed his pale face. He was no
longer sweating. She gently lifted his shirt and looked at the tatters of his
bandage. Blood spewed from the wound in his stomach.

Guiding
him across the lakeshore, she took Owen to the cypress trees and helped him sit
below them in the shade. With his long legs stretched out in the sand, he
propped his shoulders against a tree trunk. Rayanne made him as comfortable as
possible by removing her T-shirt and stuffing it behind his back. She then
lifted his shirt again and gently removed the bloody remains of the bandage.
His face was tight with pain, but he hadn’t said anything since she helped him
to the ground.

The
wound looked worse. Rayanne worried that it was infected. But there was nothing
she could do. Sighing, she sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
She gazed at the sky and wondered what to do next. When Owen gently shifted,
she moved her head from his shoulder.

“Listen,
if I don’t make it out of here …” he said quietly.

“Sssshhhhh
…” She wouldn’t let him finish, putting a finger to his lips and shushing him.
Tears filled her eyes. He turned his head and she moved her finger.

“No,
I need to know something,” he whispered. “It’s important.”

Rayanne
moved back. “What?”

“I
need you to tell me,” he said slowly. “How did that movie end?”

Rayanne
looked perplexed. “What?”

“The
dance troupe,” he said. “Did they make it to the competition?”

Rayanne
smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, they made it.”

“You
see.” He tried to laugh. “We make a good team. I fall asleep on the couch and
you ruin the ending of the movie for me.”

She
hushed him again. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

“I
don’t want you to leave me,” he said. “I don’t want a divorce.”

“We
can talk about this later.”

“No,
we can’t.” He moved too quickly and groaned in pain. “Babe, I’m serious. I love
you and I want to be with you.”

She
stared into his eyes, but didn’t answer.

He
moved again, slower this time, and touched her arm. “You still love me, right,
babe? You still love me.”

“Yes,”
she whispered. “Of course I do.”

“I’m
grieving too. You know that, right?” He shifted again and reached up, grabbed a
low-hanging branch, and broke it. He handed it to her.

She
took the branch. “What’s this for?”

“It’s
a cypress branch,” he said. “It’s a symbol of mourning.”

Rayanne
looked down at it. “Owen, I don’t understand.”

“You
won’t talk about it, or at least not to me,” he said. “I want you to know I’ve
been mourning with you. I may not have been the greatest husband, but you
haven’t been going through this alone.”

“I
never thought I was alone,” she said, bringing the branch to her lips. “It’s
just … I can’t talk about it.”

“Why?”
Despite the visible pain, Owen was clearly growing angry. “Why can’t you talk
to me? I’m your husband.”

“Because—”

“Because
why? I love you and we should be—”

“I
can’t face the truth,” she yelled, silencing him. “I can’t even begin to
process what I’ve done.”

“Babe,
what happened?”

Rayanne
shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Yes,
you can.” He nodded. “What happened?”

She
turned away from him. “Please, let’s find a way to—”

“Rayanne,
you were an extraordinary mother. You loved him.”

“No!”
She was on the verge of tears.

“Babe,
whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It
was my fault.” She swung around. Her eyes were red and swollen. “It’s my fault
that our son is dead. My fault.”

Silence
hung in the air, and Owen let out a nervous grunt. “Of course it’s not your
fault.”

“I
left the back door open.”

“What?”

“I
left the back door open.” Rayanne began to cry. “I was watering the plants on
the lanai, and he was in the living room playing.”

“Whatever
you think happened that day—”

“I
know what happened that day. I was there.” She was sobbing now. “It is my
fault. My cell phone rang and I ran into the kitchen to grab it. I was only
gone a few minutes. When I came back, he was in the pool.”

“Ray—”

“He’d
walked outside into the backyard and fell into the pool.” She could barely get
the words out. “Oh, dear Lord. His body was floating …. He died because of me
…. My baby died because … because I didn’t shut the—”

“It
wasn’t your fault.” He placed a hand on her cheek, wiping the tears. “You loved
him.”

“No,
I killed him.” Rayanne stood. “I killed our son.”

“Ray,
no, you didn’t.”

“I’m
here and he’s not. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work,” she said. She
sniffed and stopped crying. “How can I live when my baby doesn’t get that
opportunity?”

Rayanne
threw the cypress branch on the ground and stepped on it, smashing it into the
sand. Owen struggled to his feet and reached for her. He took her in his arms.
She struggled against him, then relaxed. He wrapped his arms tighter around
her, squeezing her to him.

With
her head buried in his shoulder, she cried.

The
early summer evening dropped its duskiness over them, and they stayed huddled
together like two people alone in the world. As they watched the lake, Owen’s
breathing grew shallow and Rayanne guided him back to the tree. They fell down
together, their backs against the cypress trunk, and she allowed his head to
rest on her shoulder. His hands were shaking and she squeezed his fingers,
trying to steady them.

She
searched the sky again, praying for help. Her free hand slipped into her pocket
and grasped the rabbit’s foot. Her fingers caressed the soft fur as she watched
the moon rise.

Thick
patches of clouds moved across the sky. There were still no boats, as far as
she could see, but an occasional flash of moonlight sparkled off the water and
came through the trees to her right. To her left, the lake ran into complete
darkness. Then something emerged from the dark. Moonlight glinted on chrome.

Rayanne’s
eyes widened.

A
boat drifted in the shadows. A few yards from shore. It was their bass boat,
waiting for them.

Rayanne
leapt up, bumping Owen with her shoulder, and rushed into the water. Splashing,
she launched herself forward, running in the shallow water. She moved as fast
as she could, praying the boat didn’t drift away from her to the center of the
lake. The water deepened, coming up to her waist, but she waded faster, gaining
on the boat. She hit the bow so hard with her shoulder she nearly dislocated
it. Her feet dug into the sand. She pushed the boat backward, toward the shore.

A
chill down her back made her shiver as she sank to her knees in the water and,
springing up, she vaulted into the boat. Fumbling for the ignition, she found
it, turned the key, cranked up the engine. It started with a high-pitched
growl, sputtering mud and hydrilla behind her. She shut off the engine.

Jumping
out of the boat onto dry land, she ran to Owen. Lifting him by his armpits, she
whispered in his ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

He
was barely conscious, and she said it again, louder.

She
struggled to move him, and let out a faint cry when she noticed a look of
surprise on his face. Rayanne’s ears twitched sharply upward as she heard a
noise. She turned her head and a scream caught in her throat.

Scut
smirked and whispered her name.

His
cold smile and the rank odor of his breath registered before he backhanded her.
Pain ignited in her left ear and she flipped around.

A
black mass rose out of the darkness and swung the butt of a shotgun at her
head. She saw it coming down at her, but too late. She groaned and pitched
forward, unconscious before she struck the ground.

27

A
spray of cold water struck Rayanne’s face, stirring her awake. She opened her
eyes and found herself lying on her back in a speeding boat. It vibrated and
bounced, racing across the dark lake. High above, a solid moon glowed
brilliantly in the sky, so she knew it had to be the wee hours of the morning.
Rayanne shivered as more water droplets hit her face.

Shifting,
she groaned and realized her hands were tied in front of her. She lifted her
arms, trying to reach her head. Her whole skull ached. She wasn’t sure how long
it had been or how long she’d been out. She wanted to shut her eyes and return
to that safe, black oblivion. She closed her eyes as the boat bounced again,
jolting her onto her side. Rayanne’s eyes opened and widened in horror.

Across
from her, at the front of the boat, she saw Darryl’s rigid corpse. It was
stretched out on the floorboard. His lifeless eyes were open, staring. His arms
and hands had frozen in rigor mortis. Two gray cinder blocks were tied to his
ankles. To his right, lying in a clump of bloody tattered clothes and mud,
Owen’s body lay face down and motionless. He was only unconscious, she hoped,
and she wanted to go to him.

Rayanne
struggled to move. She eventually sat up, rocking with the boat, and raised her
bound arms. The boat rocked again, thrusting her forward. Her face planted into
the rough carpet of the floorboard. This brought a sharp cackle behind her, and
Rayanne turned her head to find Scut steering the boat.

Sitting
behind the steering wheel some three feet behind her, he laughed. The
handicapped man—the one she had seen at the cabin—was sitting in the bench seat
beside Scut. His legs draped lifelessly over the edge of the seat. At his feet,
Rayanne noticed, was their Winchester. It was probably what hit her upside the
head, and it was lying on the floorboard like discarded bait. She stared at the
gun, then up at Scut as he sharply turned the wheel.

The
boat whipped to the right. Rayanne rolled onto her side and hit the base of the
console. She regained her balance and, still lying on the carpet with hands
bound, she craned her neck to find Owen at the front. He appeared safe.
Unconscious, but safe. His body shifted into Darryl’s corpse, and Dru was
pushing him away with her foot. Rayanne turned again and looked up at Scut. She
was practically at his feet now, her shoulder pressed to the base of the
console.

“Now,
don’t get all excited, lady,” Scut said, smiling down at her. He sounded smug
and self-satisfied.

The
shotgun at his feet hadn’t moved, and was within arm’s reach. If she could free
her hands, Rayanne knew she could grab the gun.

“You
guys won’t be here long,” he said to her as he slowed the boat. The motor quieted.
Bringing the throttle back, he flashed a toothy grin. She knew that couldn’t be
good.

“What
does that mean?” It was the first thing she’d said, and Rayanne suddenly
realized how thirsty she was. She ran her tongue over her cracked lips and
watched Scut get up from behind the wheel. He maneuvered around the disabled
man. The man from the cabin. The man Owen knew—what was his name? She couldn’t
remember, and watched Scut wave at Dru. She still stood at the front of the
boat, her right boot planted on top of Owen’s shoulder like a hunter standing
over prey. She called to Scut.

Rayanne
heard the girl’s voice, but wasn’t listening. She focused solely on keeping her
balance as Scut rocked the boat. She watched him step to the front and stand
beside Dru. The girl reached for him, grabbing his arm as he squatted next to
Owen’s body. He shook Owen’s arm and yelled in his face.

Rayanne
screamed for him to stop it as Scut kicked her husband. She forced herself up
onto her knees, then fell again with the boat’s jerking movements. She raised
her head and watched helplessly as Scut planted his boot into Owen’s side
again, then again.

Rayanne
fought with the rope holding her wrists together and looked back at the
disabled man sitting on the bench behind her. “Make it stop,” she said to him.
“He’s going to kill my husband.”

The
man smiled, as if he was enjoying it. Ignoring him, Rayanne turned forward
again, seeing Dru take a turn kicking Owen’s side. Rayanne inched ahead. She
screamed, thrashing her arms, trying to loosen the bond. When Owen groaned, she
stopped. Scut froze and put a hand in front of Dru, halting her as well.

“Owen!”
Rayanne watched him cough and gag, then turn onto his back. He lifted his head.

“Babe?”
Owen craned his neck, turning his head up toward Scut and Dru, then over at
Darryl’s body. He groaned again, then looked at her Rayanne. “Babe, you okay?”

Rayanne
could barely understand him.

The
disabled man—what did Owen say his name was?—slumped in the bench seat by the
steering wheel, and Rayanne looked back at him. His limp feet grazed the
Winchester on the floorboard, but he didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he didn’t
have feelings in his legs.

He
remained slumped in the seat, even as he spoke. “Owen Meeks, you’re awake.”

Rayanne
looked at her husband.

Owen
seemed confused for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “Groves, what are you
doing?”

Grover
Lott. That was his name, Rayanne thought, and turned her head to look at the
man. She knew he was going to reach down and pick up the shotgun. But he
didn’t. Instead, he clasped his hands together and nodded his head.

“I’m
pleased you remember me,” Grover said, clearly addressing her husband. “How
long has it been? Ten, fifteen years?”

Owen
stirred at the front of the boat, barely able to raise his head. Rayanne saw
that his hands were tied like hers. His ankles were knotted together too. He
didn’t move, though, seemingly focused on Grover Lott.

“What
do you want, Groves? Why are you doing this?”

Grover
laughed. “You’re acquainted with Scut and his girlfriend already. They’re in my
employ.” Grover waved at the girl, then motioned toward Rayanne. “My nephew
wanted to join us, but he’s at the cabin, licking his wounds. Seems somebody
threw a wild animal at him.”

Rayanne
struggled to sit up, and thrashed her arms to free her hands. The rope
loosened, but her wrists were still bound. She wanted to stand. Giving up, she
relaxed and leaned her back against the console.

“We
didn’t have a choice,” she said. “He tried to shoot us.”

Owen
looked at Scut and Dru standing over him, and back at Grover. “What do you
want?”

“You
know what I want.” Grover’s voice carried across the boat and into the night.
It echoed over the lake, sounding ghostly.

Owen
groaned, perhaps from the pain. Perhaps from something else. “You’re insane.
You know that, right?”

“And
you know that I’m not.” Grover smiled at him, dismissing Owen’s accusation.
“You’ve seen it, just as I have. You’ve seen what it can do.”

“And
I’ve seen what happens when you lose it,” Owen said. “I don’t have it.”

“Let
me show you what will happen if you don’t give it back to me in the next sixty
seconds.” Grover waved a hand at Scut.

The
teen acknowledged him with a nod, then tapped Dru’s shoulder. They maneuvered
around Darryl’s corpse. Dru lifted Darryl’s feet. The rope that wrapped around
Darryl’s boots slithered across the floorboard of the boat and straightened. It
was attached to two cinder blocks. Scut slid his tattooed arms under Darryl’s
armpits and around his torso. Lifting the corpse, Scut and Dru swung it toward
the side of the boat and pitched it overboard. The body splashed into the dark
water. Instantly, the two cinder blocks scuffed across the floorboard,
following the body over the side. They made quieter splashes.

Rayanne
screamed when she saw the rope wrapped around her husband’s ankles stretched
along the carpet to another two cinder blocks in the center of the boat.
Rayanne shook her head. She tried to stand again.

Owen
met her eyes, quieting her.

He
turned to Grover. “You’re sick,” he said. “You know that.”

“It
doesn’t have to be this way,” Grover said.

A
heavy silence hung in the air between the two men.

After
a moment, Owen looked down at the floorboard of the boat, as if he was
absorbing what had just happened.

“You
shouldn’t have done that,” he said. He chuckled, then laughed out loud. His
laughter turned into a cough. He regained his composure and looked up at
Grover. “You shouldn’t have done th—”

“Owen,
don’t!” Rayanne pleaded. “Babe, please.”

Owen
looked at her, seemingly surprised by her calling him “babe,” then back at
Grover Lott.

“Tell
me, Owen Meeks. How long has it been?” Grover’s voice was louder. “How long has
it been since you last saw me?”

 “I
know you blame me for the accident.” Strength seemed to grow in Owen’s voice.
“I get that. You think I pushed you off that cliff on purpose.”

“I
know you did, bro.” Grover emphasized the word “bro” with an exaggerated,
sarcastic antagonism. “I was there.”

“I
didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted any of this to happen.” Owen tried to
stand, but he stumbled with his hands and ankles tied. He got to his knees and
held up his hands. His wrists were bleeding beneath the rope. “But you know how
it was, growing up.”

“No,
bro.” Grover enunciated every word. “Tell me. What was it like, growing up?”

“You
were timid. Shy, you know. Afraid to do anything. And I didn’t want everyone
making fun of you because you were afraid to jump.”

“Isn’t
that ironic? I guess no one makes fun of me anymore, do they? I guess I’m not
afraid to do anything anymore.”

“I
didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Owen said again, his voice now weak and
groggy. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re
right, Owen,” Grover said. “Return it to me, and none of this has to happen.”

“Let
my wife go.” Strength grew in his voice. “You’re mad at me, Groves. Not her.”

Grover
cleared his throat. “Now, now, Owen. This isn’t about you and it isn’t about
me. It’s about what you took from me. And I want it back.”

“I
told you, I don’t have it.”

“I
didn’t believe it at first. But when I watched you become so successful, when I
saw how blessed you’d become, I knew it was true. I knew then what you’d done.”

Owen
never took his eyes off Rayanne, even though he spoke to Grover. “I didn’t mean
to hurt you. Please, let my wife go. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Then
give it back …” Grover stretched out his arm, opening his hand. “If you didn’t
mean to hurt me, give me the rabbit’s foot.”

“I
can’t, I told you,” Owen said quietly. He laughed again, then coughed. “You’re
right, I took it. I took the rabbit’s foot and lost it. Just like you did.”

“Just
like I did?” Grover brought a hand to his face, seeming to think about that.
“When this happened, you cried at the side of my bed for days on end, babbling
how sorry you were. But you didn’t return it to me, did you? You kept it.”

“It
was just a toy. Who knew what it could do?”

“You
knew. Else, why did you keep it all these years? Why else did you blow out of
town and out of my life?”

“I
didn’t mean—”

Grover
wouldn’t let him finish. “Because you couldn’t bear to see me. Is that it? You
couldn’t bear to see what you did to me.”

“I
never meant to—”

“If
you had returned the rabbit’s foot, I wouldn’t have been laid up, crippled, and
forgotten while you and Darryl ran off being best friends and getting married
and moving on with your lives.”

“It
wasn’t like that.”

Grover
was screaming now. “Because you stole it, I was stuck at my parents’ home, in
my room, rotting away. And I never, ever forgave you.”

“I
told you I don’t have it,” Owen yelled, and then paused. He laughed again. “But
I can tell you who does.”

Grover
let out a deep breath. “Go on. Humor me.”

“Darryl.”
Owen nodded toward the side of the boat. “He stole it from me two years ago,
before my life tanked. He told me last night, before he died. He had the damn
thing on him. Took it out of his shirt pocket and showed it to me.” Owen cocked
his head and grinned. “I guess if you want it, you’re gonna need some scuba
gear.”

The
occupants of the boat fell silent as Scut and Dru watched Grover from the bow.
Grover looked down, biting his lower lip.

“Well,”
he said quietly, staring at his empty hand. “That is unfortunate.”

Rayanne
knew instantly what that meant, and screamed. She watched helplessly as Scut
grabbed Owen’s arms and Dru came to his feet. They lifted Owen off the floorboard
and carried him to the side of the boat. The two concrete blocks tied to his
ankles scratched along the thin carpet. Rayanne struggled to her feet and
fought against the loose ropes around her wrists.