The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (7 page)

11

Within
the hour, Owen and Darryl were on the lake. Neither spoke. They just fished.
Owen watched his cork jerk under the water. He yanked up on his pole. An empty
lure tangled in lake grass sailed into the air and plopped back into the water.
He said something under his breath, and Darryl looked over his shoulder.

“Give
them time to take it,” Darryl said, grinning. “Why you so jumpy?”

Owen
lifted his pole and caught the hook swinging toward him.

A
few seconds later, he cast again and the lure disappeared into the water. The
cork ran out, away from the side of the boat, tugged twice, then slowly came
back in line with the others.

“This
is what happens when you take your wife fish’n.” Darryl scratched the dark
stubble on his protruding chin and pushed his ball cap back on his head. He
wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. “Now she’s all mad at you
and—”

“She
stays mad at me.”

“Still,
I don’t feel good about leav’n her in the truck,” Darryl said.

“She
didn’t want to come out on the boat and she didn’t want to stay in town,” Owen
said. “What could she do?”

“I
don’t know.” Darryl seemed to be thinking about it. “Is she really mad about
some kids harassing you, or is this more about all those trades look’n to get
paid?”

Owen
thought about the question a moment. “That and other things.”

Darryl
turned his head and pushed his glasses up farther along the bridge of his nose.
Sweat dripped down his forehead. “Let me give me you some money. A loan, until
you find another line of work.”

“Don’t
need it. Don’t want it.”

“Is
she making you sell the boat?” Darryl wiped his brow again. “Let me buy it from
you. That way it stays in the family.”

“I’m
not sellin’ my boat.”

“Okay,”
Darryl said. “Then I want to do something. Things have been going great for me.
Business has been—”

“I
don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay.”
Darryl tucked the rod and reel under his arm and bent down to open his tackle
box. He pulled out a half-eaten Snickers bar. Taking a step as he unwrapped the
bar, he slipped and fell to his knee, nearly dumping all his lures and hooks
across the bow of the boat.

Owen
ignored it. After giving Darryl a chance to cast his line, he said, “Who starts
a business sculpting statues out of cheddar cheese, anyway?”

“I
don’t know.” Darryl shrugged. “There’s a market for cheese sculpting. Grocery
stores. Sporting events. Festivals.”

“But
cheese?”

“I’m
lucky, I guess.” Darryl brought his hand to his shirt pocket and patted it as
if there was something hidden within it. He looked over at Owen. “Hey, bro,
there’s something I been mean’n to tell ya—”

Owen
didn’t let him finish. “You still seeing that Puerto Rican chick?”

“Yeah,”
he said, chewing on the candy bar. “And all her friends are models.”

“Shut
up.”

A
breeze caught the candy wrapper and swept it over the side of the boat. It
floated on top of the water and Darryl stretched his left arm as far as he
could to reach it. He grasped it, then recoiled back into the boat. “It’s not
as exciting as you think.”

“You’ve
got a hot Spanish woman in your bed every night.” Owen cleared his throat, then
said under his breath, “Doin’ better than me.”

“Maybe
not.”

“Why
you say that?” Owen reeled in his line. “I already told you Rayanne hasn’t let
me so much as put a finger on her since, well, you know.”

“I
know.” Darryl’s voice was sympathetic, and then he chuckled. “My girlfriend
doesn’t know this, but every time we have sex, I put a dollar in an envelope.
I’m using that money to buy her a birthday gift.”

“And?”

“And
so far she’s gettin’ a McChicken.”

Owen
looked at his buddy and watched him hook another lure and cast it over the side
of the boat.

After
a couple minutes of silence, Owen cleared his throat. “I’m thinking about
moving away.”

Darryl
shot him a sideways glance. “Where ya goin’?”

“I
was thinking … Australia.”

“Why
Australia?”

“I
don’t know. I mean, you know, it’s far away.” Owen reeled in his line. “I
figured it would be good to get away from everything for awhile.”

“If
you want to go really far away, why don’t you go to Japan?”

Owen
turned aside and shook his head. “I don’t want to go to Japan.”

Darryl
wasn’t listening. He added, “They’ve got these cool robots now that you’d swear
on your mother’s grave was a real live person.”

“I
don’t care. I knew this guy who went there and he said it sucked.” Owen cast
his line again. “So why would I want to go there?”

Darryl
pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again and stared at him. “So you
think that going to Australia, you’ll be getting away from all your problems.”

“I
didn’t say that. You know, I figured a change of scenery would be good. Forget
it.”

“Look,
Owen.” Darryl put a hand to his shirt pocket. “There’s something I been mean’n
to tell you.”

“What
about it?”

He
pulled his hand out of his pocket. His fist was closed around something inside
it. “Everything that happened over the last couple of years, well, it wasn’t
your fault. It wasn’t nobody’s fault.”

“What
makes you say that?”

“I
don’t know.” Darryl looked down. He put his hand back in his pocket.

Owen
yanked his line out of the water and back toward the boat. The lure slammed
against the curved windshield above the steering wheel and plopped down on the
floorboard. Owen stared at it for several seconds before changing the subject.
“Hell, you know if I went to Australia, I’d take you with me.”

“Hell,
you would.” Darryl cast his line again. “I’d probably have to pay for the plane
tickets out there.”

They
both laughed at that, then fished another hour in silence. Neither one wanted
to resume the conversation.

* * * * *

With
her feet resting on the dashboard, Rayanne sat in the Chevy alone, stewing. She
didn’t want to sit in the boat like a third wheel, with Darryl and her husband,
and she didn’t want to wait in town either. She simply wanted to leave.

With
nothing else to do, she flipped through a magazine, tried to find a radio
station that would come in clearly, and played Solitaire on her cell phone.
Owen’s guitar was lying on the backseat and she picked it up into her arms. She
strummed the strings a couple times, then got distracted by a stain on her
yellow shirt.

Bored,
she slid out of the truck to stretch her legs. It was a sunny day. A crow cawed
above her, and she heard the lake lapping the shore. It was a beautiful day and
there was no reason to pout.

Locking
the truck, Rayanne dropped the keys into her purse. They clinked, hitting her
cell phone stuffed deep in the bag. Lastly, she hid the purse behind one of the
logs they were going to use for firewood. She looked at the black Chevy parked
along the tree line, with the empty boat trailer stretching behind it.

She
walked along the shoreline, wondering how long Owen would be on the lake.
Pausing, she raised her head toward the sky and took note of the sun. The
morning was turning warm, and she rolled up the long sleeves of her shirt,
exposing her arms. It helped cool her a little.

Rayanne
headed for the woods and walked leisurely along the dirt path for thirty
minutes. She saw rabbits and squirrels. She heard rustling noises and assumed
they were deer. Images of a raging bear rushed through her head. Then the bear
became a Sasquatch, making her pulse thump. She laughed at herself for getting
spooked so easily. The noises continued, though, gradually becoming whispers.
They were so faint she couldn’t make out the words.

She
concentrated, listening, and then proceeded in the direction of the voices. As
they grew louder, she realized someone was on the path, ahead of her. They were
coming toward her.

She
moved off the dirt path, into the trees. Hiding in the bushes, she slipped down
into the shadows. She held her breath, listening. The trees went silent as the
voices approached, followed by the padding of several heavy footsteps on the
path.

Rayanne’s
eyes widened, and through the limited gaps within the branches she saw the
movement of an arm. With red-and-black spider web tattoos. She froze.

It
was Scut, trailed by the other two boys—the large, burly one with the beard and
the nerdy guy with his arm in the sling. She didn’t see the girl or the black
Rottweiler.

“They’re
back over there,” Scut was saying to them. “I saw the boat.”

The
nerd caught up with him, holding his bandaged right arm close to his side.
“What if he really doesn’t have it?”

“I’m
not telling you again, Nelson.” Scut pressed a finger into the boy’s chest,
ruffling his tan button-down shirt. “The old man’s got it. He’s just not giv’n
it up.”

“But
what if he doesn’t?” Nelson turned so Scut wouldn’t hit his broken arm. “Then
what?”

“Stop
gett’n in my head!” Scut screamed, and jerked Nelson’s arm out of the sling.
Nelson cried out in pain.

Rayanne
gasped. She must have made a noise because Scut stopped and glanced in her
direction. Their eyes locked.

Rayanne
stumbled backward. Scrambling to her feet, she raced into the woods. She tumbled
slightly down a hill, skinning her knees, then regained her footing. The woods
thickened as Rayanne came to a narrow deer path deep in the hollow of scrawny
pine trees and live oaks. Thick, low bushes and infestations of poison oak
wound through the trees on either side. She followed the trail anyway.

As
she ran, she felt disoriented and lost. Pausing, she gasped for breath. She was
certain she heard voices again. The teenagers were chasing her. She was sure of
it.

She
turned and ran through the brush, picking up speed as she trampled through the
undergrowth until it finally cleared and revealed the lake ahead of her. She
saw the lakeshore. Turning, she looked behind. Were the teenagers pursuing her?
She heard movement and realized there were far more dangerous things in the
woods than bears and Bigfoot.

She
scanned the lake. Owen and the boat were out there somewhere, but she couldn’t
see them. She called out, screamed for Owen. Her voice echoed and dissolved
quietly in the trees. The rustling behind her grew louder. Something was
coming.

Rayanne
was sure the boat ramp and the truck were west of her, and she ran along the
bank. Coming to the mouth of an inlet, she realized she couldn’t pass. The
channel wound back into the woods. She followed it … running … stumbling.

After
what seemed like ages, the channel turned shallow and she decided to cross. She
jumped from stone to stone and leapt to the other side of the stream. She made
it to the other side, not wanting to look back. Still, she couldn’t help herself.
She turned her head, glanced over her shoulder. A figure stood on the other
side, where she had been a few minutes ago. It was a man. Or was it a dead
tree? She didn’t wait to find out. She didn’t want to know. She ran faster. And
she kept running till she came back to the lakeshore.

When
she reached the water, she hesitated and looked down the western bank. She
didn’t know how far she was from the boat ramp and the truck.

A
faint hum carried on the wind over the lake. It sounded like a motor. Rayanne
turned back to the lake. The humming grew louder. An outboard motor revved to
full power, speeding along the center of the lake. It was Owen and Darryl. She
was sure of it.

“Hey!”
Rayanne shouted as loud as she could. “Hey!”

Splashing
into the shallow water along the bank, she waved her arms and screamed. They
couldn’t hear her.

“Look
this way, damn it,” she said under her breath. She hopped as high as she could,
waving her arms like a crazy person. Screaming for Owen to see her. Praying
Owen would turn his head.

The
boat slowed down and veered toward her. Rayanne sighed. She was on the verge of
tears. They had seen her. Owen was coming for her.

Rayanne
tried to calm down. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. She took deep gulps of
air. Behind her, the woods were a living thing, wind rustling through the
trees, birds chirping, animals just out of sight. But she didn’t hear anyone
coming.

When
Owen and Darryl reached the shore, Rayanne ran, splashing, into the shallow
water to meet them, and jumped into the boat.

“What’s
wrong?”

She
sat down with her feet up in the seat, arms wrapped around her knees. “They’re
still out there.”