The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (4 page)

6

Wild
vines grew up the exterior walls of the cabin, mostly covering its gray planks.
A rusty tin roof sloped over a porch that ran the full length of the front. The
porch sagged, crowded with the skeletons of several chairs left outside in the
weather.

Rayanne
heard the cry again. It was coming from the rear.

She
came out of the brush, leaving the cover of the trees, and approached the
cabin. She stepped to the western side and pressed her back against the wall
and into the vines. She didn’t hear any noise inside. It seemed empty. Perhaps
abandoned.

The
crying continued, louder. This time it was a long, tortured wail that chilled
her. She pressed forward, along the wall, and rounded the corner to the
backside of the cabin.

In
the open backyard she saw a fire pit in front of a stone shed. To the side, a
rack stood with a drying boar carcass. It shocked her for a second. Then she
noticed a wire cage rattling at the foot of the shed.

A
raccoon paced inside it. Struggling to get out, it shrieked again. She walked
across the yard, approaching it. The coon hissed and bared its teeth.

“Did
you get trapped?” she asked it, studying the cage. She could see that one end
folded inward, allowing a small animal to enter but not escape. She assumed
there had been scraps of food placed in it earlier.

She
touched the cage door. The raccoon hissed again and swatted at her hand.
Rayanne jumped back, then laughed at herself.

“Calm
down,” she said. “I’ll get you out.” She glanced back at the cabin. It stood
there like some empty shell. She didn’t believe anyone could possibly live
there, being so small and run-down. Turning her head, she regarded the cage.

The
raccoon watched her and backed into the farthest corner. She smiled at it
again, and lifted the latch that released the cage door. The trap opened.

She
watched the coon, but it wouldn’t move from the rear corner. The hair on its
back rose, and it was clearly ready to defend itself. She looked down at it and
felt sorry for its little feet standing on the wire mesh. How on earth would
she get it out of the cage?

Remembering
the granola bar, she fished it out of her pocket and held it up for the coon to
see.

“I
bet you’ll like this.” She unwrapped the green foil and pulled it off the
brownish-yellow bar. Pulling off a piece, she set it at the opening of the
cage, and then backed away.

The
raccoon stared at her a moment, then looked at the chunk of granola. It
cautiously approached the opening and sniffed the air. Hesitating, it looked
back at her, then snatched the granola. It ate the food quickly and completely,
before poking its nose around the cage opening. It seemed to notice it had a
way out and looked as if it was trying to determine if it was another trap.
Never taking its eyes off Rayanne, the coon dropped out of the cage and
scrambled onto the dirt. It hesitated there, waiting for her to make a move.

She
set the remainder of the granola bar on the ground and took a step backward.
The coon bared its teeth, and Rayanne took another step. She watched it
hesitantly approach the granola bar and pick it up. The animal looked up at
her, then turned. Carrying the morsel in one of its small black hands, the coon
scrambled across the yard, toward the cabin. Rayanne followed it as it rounded
the corner and crawled through broken latticework along the foundation,
disappearing into the dark crawl space.

No
wonder someone had trapped it if it was living under there, Rayanne thought,
walking along the side wall. She passed the broken wooden slats along the crawl
space and noticed that the wild vines didn’t grow as thick on the eastern side
of the cabin. Rounding the front corner, she hesitated.

Parked
in front, with four muddy wheels resting in the dirt, a black van cast a long
shadow across the ramshackle porch.

Rayanne
slipped back beyond the corner, her body pressed straight against the stiff
vines growing on the wall. She held her breath.

No
one saw her. The van appeared empty.

Turning
her head, she stared at the quiet cabin. There was a window to her left, and
she inched toward it. Leaning forward, she peeked inside. She couldn’t see
much. The interior was dark.

Again,
she rounded the corner and looked at the van. Cautiously, she approached it,
watching the windshield, waiting for a face to appear. She touched the hood.
Her fingers grazed the dusty black paint and found it cool. It hadn’t been
driven in hours. Walking around to the back of the van, she saw a large metal
grate mounted to the hitch along the bumper.

She
turned and stared at the front porch. A thick sheet of plywood sloped from the
top stair to the ground. Maneuvering around it, she stepped onto the porch. The
wood creaked under her feet. She looked in the front windows. There was no
furniture—unless you counted a card table and a couple of folding chairs. A
large, muddy ice chest had been crammed in a corner.

She
craned her neck to peer deeper into the room, and was startled to see her
husband’s face glaring at her in the reflection of the windowpane. Rayanne
jumped and swung around. Owen was standing there on the edge of the porch.

“Dropp’n
F, babe! What are you doin’?” His voice was sharp.

Rayanne’s
pulse caught in her throat. She couldn’t respond. After a moment of silence,
when the initial shock faded, she reached for him. Wrapping her arms tightly
around the core of his body, she pressed her face to his chest. He put his arms
around her.

“You’re
trembling. What is it?” he asked.

“It’s
the van.” She released him, taking a deep breath. She focused on the vehicle
parked a few feet from them. “The creepy black van that was tailing us on the
interstate. The one I saw in town.”

He
turned his head. She followed his gaze to the metal grate attached to the rear,
then to the long sheet of plywood running from the ground up to the porch. She
could almost see the wheels inside his head spinning. Suddenly he turned and
placed his hands on her shoulders.

“It
probably belongs to those teenagers on the lake,” he said.

“You
think they live here?”

“I
doubt it. This looks like some trapper’s shack.” Owen paused, observing the
structure. “You didn’t go in there, did you?”

“No.”
Rayanne moved past him off the porch, across the dirt path, and headed for the
trees. She paused and turned back to him. “Owen, please, let’s go.”

He
stared at the shack a moment, before waving his arm. “This way, babe. That
leads to the county road. Our campsite’s this way.”

He
headed in the opposite direction, and Rayanne ran to catch up to him.

When
she was by his side, walking along the narrow dirt path, he asked, “Where’d you
go?”

“I
was just … exploring.” She thought about a hundred things she wanted to tell
him. “I saw some deer and almost got attacked by a gator.”

“A
gator? You okay?”

“Yeah,
I guess.”

“You’ve
got to be more careful. You’ve been gone for over an hour.”

“I’m
sorry,” she said. “I got lost.”

“I
was worried about ya, babe.”

The
words made Rayanne pause. She studied his face and noticed he wasn’t wearing
his sunglasses. “Really?” she whispered.

“Yeah.”
He smiled. “I was worried about you.”

She
hugged him again, and they continued on their way.

Owen
put an arm around her shoulder. “So you were telling me about The Bellas and
they let Becca back in the group?”

Rayanne
laughed. “I thought you didn’t want me to ruin the ending.”

“Too
late now.”

His
mood had changed. He sounded happy again, content, and it reflected in his
voice. “So what happened?”

“It
gets really good,” Rayanne said. “After coming in third at the semifinals, the
whole group has this big heart-to-heart conversation where they all realize
they need to adopt a more modern style …”

Rayanne
described the movie plot all the way back to the boat ramp, thoroughly enjoying
her husband’s undivided attention and the intimacy between them. It was exactly
what she had wanted for the weekend, and from Owen all along.

He
laughed at her story, causing her to genuinely giggle, blissfully unaware that
someone was behind them, hidden in the shadow of the trees.

Someone
was stalking them.

7

The
sun had already dropped behind the trees when Rayanne and Owen returned to the
boat ramp. The tent stood near the truck, casting a long shadow in front of it
that nearly reached the lake. A stack of wood piled up beside it, ready for the
campfire. Owen grabbed a couple of logs and stacked them within a makeshift
fire pit that was little more than a circle of stones in the sand.

“You
gett’n hungry?” He lit a crumbled paper towel and tossed it on the kindling
around the logs.

“I’m
famished.” Rayanne carried several long sticks in her arms, which seemed to
amuse him.

He
pointed at the log pile by the tent, and she dropped the sticks among several
larger pieces of wood.

Turning
to him, she asked, “So, what are we having?”

Owen
didn’t answer. He struggled with the kindling, achieving no more than a flicker
and a little smoke. He cursed and kicked the sand.

“I
think the wood’s wet,” she said. “It’s been raining.”

“We
need lighter fluid.” He wadded another paper towel and lit it. He tossed it in
the fire pit.

Rayanne
smiled and went to the truck. She opened the back door and pulled out a canvas
bag and Owen’s guitar, carried them to the wet fire pit, and sat down beside
him. She handed him the guitar.

“You
want me to sing to you?” he asked, taking the guitar.

“I
thought it would be romantic,” she said, watching him set the guitar on the
ground against the log. She looked at it as he lit another paper towel.
Shrugging it off, she grabbed a green box of granola bars from the bag.

“Forget
the fire. We can have one of these for dinner,” she said, handing him a bar.

He
threw the smoldering paper towel onto the kindling and took the granola bar
from her hand, keeping his eyes on the fire pit. They watched the flame rise
and dissolve into a wisp of smoke.

“I
can get these logs to light, I’m tell’n you.” He tore open the wrapper and
chomped down on the granola bar. Turning to Rayanne, he talked while chewing.
“I got dry wood. I just need lighter fluid.”

“You
want to know what really goes with granola bars?” She reached into the bag and
pulled out a bottle of Merlot. She held it up in her hands. “They go very well
with this.”

Owen
grinned. He took the bottle from her and she handed him a corkscrew. He popped
the cork and inhaled the aroma rising from the narrow opening. “Now it’s a
party.”

“And
we’ve got the whole lake to ourselves.”

Rayanne
flipped around and grabbed two Solo cups from the bag. She held them toward
Owen and he poured wine into one cup, then the other.

“Maybe
you were right.” He took the red cup from her right hand, gulped his drink, and
threw it down at his feet. “But I’m still gettin’ this fire started.”

Rayanne
stared at the cup lying on the ground for a second, and looked back at Owen. “We
don’t need a fire.”

She
put an arm around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. She felt the warmth
of his body as she watched the last remnants of the sun disappear over the
lake. When he shifted his shoulder, she turned her head to see that he wasn’t
moving away from her, but reaching for the guitar. He picked it up and strummed
a few chords.

“Anything
you want to hear?” he asked her.

“
’
Country Roads
.’ ” She’d barely waited for him to finish the question.
It was exactly what she’d hoped for, what she needed. Rayanne brought her hands
together and rested them on her lap.

He
laughed at her. “You always want to hear ‘Country Roads.’ ”

“It’s
my favorite,” she said as he began playing the first chords.

“Take
me home, country roads …”

His
voice soothed her. It always had. Listening to him sing, she sat on the large
round log and watched the woods grow dark. When he finished, Rayanne picked up
the cup he had thrown on the ground and poured more wine into it. She handed it
to him.

His
smile widened. “You tryin’ to get me drunk?”

“You
look like you needed another drink.” She winked and poured another cup for
herself. “Play another song.”

Owen
watched her a moment before taking the cup from her hands. “Where you going
with this?”

“I’m
having a romantic moment in the woods with my husband.” She laughed as she
spoke. It hid the tension she felt. “We’re having fun, right? You’re going to
be glad you skipped out on that stupid bass tournament with Darryl.”

Owen
took a sip of wine, never taking his eyes off her. “Is that what this is? A
romantic moment.”

“It
could be.” She pulled out a black negligee from the bag and twirled it on her
index finger. “Because when you guys go on your fishing trips, I’m sure Darryl
doesn’t bring this along.”

He
stared at the negligee. His eyebrows rose. “That’s some bag. What else you got
in there?”

Rayanne
laughed and set down her cup. She positioned herself slightly behind him on the
log, and worked her fingers slowly across his broad, tight shoulders, down his
spine. His back felt taut, the muscles coiled. Her fingers gently plied them,
and she felt him relax and breathe, his body softening under her probing.

He
leaned forward and turned his head toward her. “I’m getting sex vibes here,” he
said.

She
didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled off the large T-shirt she’d been wearing all
day, revealing a white tank top cut low in the back, and exposing the back of a
nude-colored bra. She turned and faced him.

“Babe,
are you sure?” He leaned on his right elbow and cocked his head. “You sure you
want to—”

She
placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “Don’t talk,” she whispered.

Owen
cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Rayanne reached up and ran her
fingers through his thick hair, pulling him down to her. Together, they rolled
off the log and onto the dirt.

Owen
was on top of her, kissing her cheek, her chin, her neck. He slipped a hand
behind her back, unsnapping her bra. Rayanne pulled him tighter. Her body
tensed. Her heartbeat hastened. She felt her body perspire with the rush of
emotions invading her brain. Tenderness. Desire. Lust. Blood flow. Aching.
Pain. Fear. Restriction. Claustrophobia. She couldn’t move. She needed to move,
but she couldn’t. She was trapped. Owen was on top of her, kissing her. She
could feel his breath on her neck. It was hot. Feverish. Burning. His heavy
body was pressing her down into the earth, mashing her into the ground. She
couldn’t breathe. Her heart was racing.

“Stop,”
she said under her breath. She fought to move her arms, to push him away. She
struggled to breathe. “Stop,” she said again, louder this time.

He
didn’t respond. His weight was too much. He was crushing her.

“Stop,”
she yelled, and Owen moved. He raised up on one arm.

“Babe,”
he said.

She
maneuvered her arms beneath him, pressing her hands against his chest and
pushing him off her.

“I
can’t.” She was crying now, and rolled over onto her side. “I can’t.”

Owen
sat up. “You initiated this, Rayanne.”

She
could feel his stare boring into the back of her head, but she didn’t care. She
tried to block out his voice. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped
her arms tightly around her shins.

“I
just can’t,” she said again. She was no longer crying and her voice was
emotionless. “I … can’t.”

“I
was fine leaving you alone, Rayanne. I gave you space. But you initiated this.”

She
heard him shuffle to his feet, then yell. Startled, she threw her head back as
a flashlight beam cut into the darkness. It shined in her face.

Rayanne
screamed, sat up, and covered herself. The beam of light moved down to her arms
and across her chest, highlighting her breasts.

“Did
we interrupt someth’n?” The teenager holding the flashlight erupted in
laughter.

It
was the kid from the boat. Tattooed spider webs covered his arms, and his black
hair was cut in an angry-looking flattop short enough for the white of his
scalp to show through. His combat boots, laced well above his ankles, were
crusted with mud. When his head moved, Rayanne saw the web pattern continue on
his neck.

Behind
him, she saw two more boys. One was large and thick, easily three hundred
pounds. A shaggy black beard hid his face. He raised a hand to his head,
removing a knitted black beanie that revealed an even thicker, uncombed mop
atop his head that fell below his eyes. He had piercings in his nose and ears
that reflected the moonlight. His smile, clear evidence he was either high or
psychotic, revealed two buck teeth. He hit the shoulder of the boy on his left.

That
boy, with dark blond hair parted on the right, was slightly older and looked
somehow out of place. Dressed in a tan button-down shirt and faded jeans, he
reacted to getting hit in the shoulder. His left arm hung in a sling and his
hand was wrapped in bandages from which only a thumb protruded.

Finally,
a girl, seventeen at the most, pushed her way between the two boys and stood
next to the alpha in the front. Rayanne recognized her from the boat. The
girl’s shoulder-length, bleached-white hair fell to the left side of her face;
the right side of her head was shorn short and spiky. Her eyes were encircled
by dark eyeliner, almost to the point of looking like two deep holes in the
middle of her face. Contrasting against her pale skin, her face looked
skull-like. She wore black boots too, laced tight up her calves, and she
stepped closer to the boy, resting an arm around his shoulder.

Rayanne
reached for Owen as he took a step forward. He was immediately in the alpha’s
face. He swatted the flashlight from the boy’s hand, and it struck the ground.
The other hand wrapped around the boy’s neck, squeezing the tattoo webbing.

“What
the hell do you kids want?” Owen said through his teeth.

The
teenager raised both arms, forcing the girl to step back and Owen to release
him. The boys behind him moved forward as the girl flipped her head, waving a
swath of bleached hair, and whistled.

Answering
her call, something large moved in the bushes behind her. It was almost as if
the night itself was taking form.

Then
Rayanne saw a large black dog emerge from the undergrowth. For a second, she
thought it might be some kind of gorilla. As the dog padded out of the shadows
to stand beside the girl, Rayanne saw its black, focused eyes and realized it
was a Rottweiler.

Rayanne
cast a nervous glance at Owen, who was biting his bottom lip, a dead giveaway
that he was uneasy.

Then
the teenage girl leaned slightly forward and ruffled the dog’s head as the
larger boy stepped closer.

“You
Owen Meeks?” he asked. “That your name?”

“Yeah,”
Owen said slowly. “We know each other?”

“Willow
is a small town, old man.” The boy cocked his head, grinning ever so slightly.
“It’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else. You know what I
mean? The kinda place that is naturally suspicious of strangers.”

His
voice chilled Rayanne, and she looked at Owen. Both his hands were balled up into
fists. She reached for him, grasping his left arm.

He
shook his head at the teenagers. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I’m
Scut and this is Rude Roddy, and Nelson.” He motioned to the two boys behind
him. “Dru’s my girl and that’s Dru’s little baby,” he said, smiling and nodding
toward the dog. “We call him Luger.”

“Luger?”
Rayanne asked. “As in a wad of spit?”

“As
in our pet Rottweiler,” Dru answered. She leaned on one leg as she spoke,
clearly proud of herself. Her dog growled at Owen, and this brought a smile to
her lips. “You wanna meet him?”

The
dog shot forward, springing at Owen and snapping his jaws. It grasped a
mouthful of jeans and shook its head. Owen stumbled backward, kicking his leg
to force the dog to let go. He raised his arms and yelled.

Rayanne
screamed too, grabbing the dog’s collar and pulling its head back. It was
useless, though, as the dog’s jaw clamped shut. Scared that the Rottweiler was
about to rip her husband’s leg from his body, Rayanne lost her grip of the
collar and shouted, “Call him off,” though she could barely get the words out.
“Call him off!”

Dru
whistled. The dog released Owen’s pant leg. It returned to her side, never
taking its black eyes off Owen.

Rayanne
launched herself into Owen’s arms, then fell to his feet. His pants were torn,
but he wasn’t bitten. His leg was red, though the skin wasn’t broken.

Owen
pushed her away and leaned toward Scut. He raised an arm and shouted, “Whaddya
want?”

Scut
laughed at this and bent down to grab the flashlight lying on the ground.

“C’mon,
Owen Meeks,” Scut said, turning the flashlight off and on in Owen’s face. “You
know what we want …”