The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (8 page)

“What?”
Owen sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder. “What’s out there?”

“The
teenagers.” She spoke quietly, looking down at her shoes. “The boy with all
those spider web tattoos on his arms.”

“They’re
punk kids.”

“They’re
following us,” she said more forcefully.

“Are
you okay? Did they touch you?”

Rayanne
looked up at him, unblinking. “Owen, they’re after something you have.”

Darryl
stepped toward them. He removed his ball cap and held it in his hands. “I think
she’s just scared.”

Owen
glanced at him, then at Rayanne, who had gotten to her feet. “Where’s your
purse?”

She
stared at him. “What?”

“Your
purse. Where is it?”

She
took a step back. “I left it there.”

“In
the truck? Did you lock it in the truck?”

“Yeah,”
she said. “I locked the truck.”

“But
where’s your purse?”

“I
told you.” Rayanne raised her arm and pointed toward the western shoreline. “At
the boat ramp.”

“And
the keys? The keys are in your purse?”

“Yeah—”

Owen
revved the motor. “We’ve got to get back.”

12

Owen
didn’t pull back on the throttle until he was in sight of the boat ramp on the
horizon. When he reached the inlet he slowed the boat. The craft settled into
the water at the last moment and with its bow pushing a rolling wave of water
in front of it, scraped hard against the muddy bank.

Owen
and Darryl leapt from the boat. Rayanne stepped out more cautiously, and found
the ramp empty and quiet. No teenagers.

“Dropp’n
F!” Owen screamed. “Where’s my truck?”

Owen
ran to the dirt patch where his Chevy had been parked. An oil leak stained and
marked the spot.

Rayanne
raced to the pile of firewood where she’d hidden her purse. “It’s gone,” she
said.

“Dropp’n
F! They stole the truck!” Owen screamed, then turned to Rayanne. “You left the
keys and your purse out here in the open? They were watching you.”

“I’m
sorry, Owen.”

“How
could you do that?” He put his hands on his head. “How could you be so stupid?”

“I
said I was sorry.”

Darryl
stepped between Owen and Rayanne. “Lay off her. She didn’t mean for this to
happen.”

“They
stole my truck.” Owen threw up his arms. “Call 911. Get the police out here.”

“I
can’t.” Rayanne shrugged. “My phone was in my purse.”

Owen
turned to Darryl.

Darryl
shrugged. “Sorry, bro. My cell was in your truck. Where’s yours?”

Owen
shook his head. “Mine broke.”

“What
are we going to do?”

Owen
approached Rayanne. “This is all your fault!”

“I
don’t know what else to say, Owen. I’m sorry.”

“No.
No, I don’t accept it.” Owen turned away from her, then flipped back around.
“How could you be so stupid?”

“Me?”
She waved her arms at him, her voice rising. “Those thugs work for your loan
shark, Owen. You did this to yourself.”

“For
the last time,” he yelled, “I didn’t borrow money from no loan sharks!”

“Then
someone repossessed your truck.” Turning sharply on her heel, she walked toward
the tree line.

Owen
watched her a moment, then yelled again. “Where are you going?”

“I
can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” She walked faster, not bothering to
turn around.

“Get
back over here, Rayanne.” He ran after her, reached for her.

“Don’t
touch me!”

She
pushed him away as he yelled at her. “I haven’t touched you, Rayanne. I haven’t
touched you since—”

“I
don’t want to hear it!” She was screaming now.

“Then
what are you going to do? Cut yourself again?”

Rayanne
stopped. Some infinite sadness. Some haunting regret fluttered its shadow
across her face. Abruptly, she turned her head and murmured, “I’m done.” She
barely heard it herself over Owen’s yelling. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Owen
stopped yelling. “What?”

Rayanne
twirled the wedding ring on her left hand. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What
are you saying?” Owen held up his hands. “You want a divorce?”

She
shut her eyes, thinking, then turned to him. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Babe,
stop turning away from me.” He grabbed her arms. “I miss him every day, but I’m
still here.”

“Don’t.”

“You
and me. We’re still here.” Owen threw his arms up and turned around. Then he
stopped and turned back to her. “A day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss him. An
hour doesn’t go by that I don’t blame myself. I miss Connor so much—”

“Don’t.”
Rayanne’s eyes filled with tears. Her anger dissolved. She wasn’t sure why. It
was replaced by deep sorrow. She watched him a moment, then said, “Don’t say
his name.”

“Why
not, Rayanne?” Owen spat as he talked. “He existed, Rayanne. He was a part of
our lives.”

“Why
do you keep pushing me on this?”

“Because
you spend all your time in your own little world and shutting everyone you love
out of it.” He took a step toward her. He reached for her, but she shrank back.
She tried not to listen, but he continued talking. “I don’t care about the
truck. I don’t care about the house or the business.”

Rayanne
shut her eyes, holding back tears. She tried to shut him out.

Owen
continued. “I need you to come back to me, babe,” he said. “I want you to come
back.”

“It’s
too hard.”

“I
know,” he said quietly. “And you can hide and you can pretend that it never
happened and our past didn’t exist, but you can’t do it forever.”

“You
don’t understand.”

“I
do, babe. I do understand.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Everything you’re
running from, it’ll find you. It’ll destroy you. It’s destroying u—”

Rayanne
didn’t let him finish. She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s my fault,
Owen. I heard him—”

She
barely said the words when, out of the trees a black truck appeared on the path
behind them. Mud and dirt flew from the wheels as its engine revved. It was
Owen’s Chevy.

Swerving
as if to intentionally hit her, the truck and empty boat trailer whooshed past
Rayanne just as Owen grabbed her arm and flung her into the thick brush. It
missed her by inches.

The
truck’s brakes squealed and the vehicle skidded to a sudden stop on top of the
weeds beside the dirt path, its rear tires angrily spitting dead leaves and
gravel. The boat trailer rattled and swung violently toward the side of the
truck bed. The Chevy’s engine revved, growling louder. It was only a few yards
from them, and Rayanne’s mind struggled to grasp what was happening.

“Someone’s
driving your truck,” she said over the roar of the engine. She watched, dazed,
as it bolted forward, made a U-turn, then came back at them.

“Get
out of there!” Darryl yelled, pushing his glasses higher on his nose and
running from the bank. He was too far away and his voice barely carried above
the roaring engine and rattling trailer.

Rayanne
saw him, but she wasn’t listening. Crouching beside Owen, his arms wrapped
protectively around her, she watched the black Chevy speed toward them.

“Get
out of there!” Darryl yelled again. He waved his arms.

Rayanne
got to her feet but stood motionless, unable to take her eyes off the oncoming
truck. Owen’s grip tightened and pulled her forward, snapping her back to
reality. Together they stumbled into the thick brush behind them and ran
between the trees. Coming to the thick undergrowth, they dropped to their knees
behind the cover of several sprawling bushes.

The
truck swerved off the path and into the brush after them, stopping short of a
gnarled oak tree. One of the teenage boys popped up in the truck bed. He
laughed and whooped, then called to Owen.

Rayanne
realized it was Scut, and the boy seemed even more dangerous than before. She
placed a hand on her husband’s arm, warning him not to respond to Scut’s
baiting.

“Old
man, where are you?” Scut’s voice rose above the revving engine. “You stole
something. Give it back and we’ll call it even.”

Owen
looked at Rayanne with wide eyes.

She
shook her head. “The boy’s not stable,” she whispered.

“Come
on, old man,” Scut yelled again from the truck bed. His voice echoed through
the trees. “You know what you took. Now give it back.”

Owen
started to rise again and Rayanne stopped him. She tightened her hold on his
shoulder, then was caught off guard by a loud yelling coming from the trees on
the other side of the path. It startled her, and she saw Darryl running toward
the truck.

Darryl
screamed like a savage and vaulted onto the rear tire and into the truck bed.
Taking Scut by surprise, he grabbed the teen and threw him over the side of the
truck in one swift motion. Scut tumbled to the ground. Then, barely pausing for
breath, Darryl plunged over the side and landed on top of the kid. Scut brought
up his arms, covering his face.

“You
almost hit them!” Darryl screamed as he punched Scut in the jaw. He raised his
fist and hit the kid again, and again. “You coulda killed them!”

Instantly,
the Chevy doors opened. The large hairy kid with the ratty beard fell out of
the cab. Unclipping a knife from his belt with one hand, he swiped a black
beanie from his head with the other. Right behind him the slim, nerdy boy
gripped a wooden baseball bat awkwardly in his uninjured hand. Rude Roddy and
Nelson.

They
launched themselves at Darryl, who still straddled on top of Scut’s stomach,
and was punching his face.

The
two boys came at Darryl from behind, pushing him to the ground. Darryl landed
hard on his side. Scut, now free, got up on his knees and wiped his bloody nose
on the back of his arm. Roddy grasped the nape of Darryl’s neck and slammed his
forehead against the ground. Stunned, Darryl struggled upward. Then Scut
whisked Darryl’s feet from under him and slammed his head down again.

Holding
the shotgun, Dru slipped out of the truck. Her Rottweiler jumped from the
floorboard to the ground. He galloped to the fighting boys and barked. Dru
stood behind the dog, aiming the gun.

“Hold
him still,” she said, pointing the gun at Darryl, who was struggling with the
three boys on the ground. The Rottweiler growled, and that brought a chuckle
from her throat. “We shoot his friend, and that Owen Meeks won’t think we’re
playing games no more.”

13

Owen
stood, rising from the cover of the brush. Rayanne couldn’t hold him back, and
she remained crouched in the bushes, hidden, watching her husband run toward
Dru. He tackled the girl, bringing her to the ground, and the shotgun went
flying. In the commotion, Luger barked and clamped down on Owen’s leg. Owen
cried out in pain and grabbed the dog by its neck as Dru struggled to her feet.

Rayanne
raised her head over the bushes, wishing she could do something for her
husband. But there was no stopping him. She watched the dog knock him to the
ground, onto his back. It tore into his leg. Rayanne couldn’t stand it. She
launched out of the dense shrubs, then stopped. The Winchester lay in the weeds
to the side of the dirt path, a good twenty, thirty feet away. Holding her
breath, she took off toward it.

As
her feet moved, she could see Dru in her peripheral vision. The girl slapped
the hindquarters of the dog, calling it off Owen and pointing. Luger released
Owen’s leg and looked up. Rayanne saw it and kept running. She was a few feet
from the gun when she heard Dru yell out, “Get her!”

The
words left a ringing in Rayanne’s ears as she skidded in the dirt, reaching for
the gun. Her fingers wrapped around the barrel. She felt the dog approaching.
Heard it snarl as it came for her. She picked up the gun, spun around, and ran
back toward the trees. The Rottweiler was behind her.

Rayanne
ran faster, clutching the shotgun. She felt Luger’s hot breath on the back of
her calves. She imagined its snapping jaws on her flesh. She could almost feel
its teeth. She didn’t look back. Running through the underbrush, she slowed,
her legs ripping through branches and weeds. She reached the oak tree. She
bounded onto its trunk, dug the fingernails of her left hand into the tree’s
rough bark while her right hand gripped the barrel, and she climbed. Her legs
wrapped around the tree, forcing her body upward. She could’ve climbed higher
if she wasn’t holding the gun.

Luger
snapped at her, just missing her butt. She felt the dog’s teeth grazing her
bare thigh, but it couldn’t grab hold. Then it clamped down on the back edge of
her shoe. She kicked her foot, and Luger’s head shook violently. She clung
tighter to the tree trunk, tried to shift herself higher. Luger was pulling her
down.

Her
shoe slipped off her foot, along with Luger. The sudden release was like a
rubber band breaking and it sent Rayanne upward with a sudden force that
surprised her. The gun dropped from her grasp.

Looking
down, she watched it fall. It hit the ground beside the angry dog and
discharged. The blast echoed loudly, ringing in her ears and sending birds
screeching into the air from the trees.

Luger
cried out as if he’d been shot, and scrambled into the woods. His yelps of pain
faded as he disappeared into the thick trees. Dru screamed for him, and then
ran after the dog, plowing into the underbrush. A moment later, she was gone
too.

The
gunshot brought silence, and Rayanne looked back to the Chevy. The boys had
stopped fighting. They were standing now, startled and gaping at the tree line
as if momentarily trying to understand what happened. Owen and Darryl stood
back to back, both dirty and bloody, as the three teenage boys circled them.
Nelson held the baseball bat over his head with his left hand, like a club. He
kept his bandaged right arm close to his side. Rude Roddy held the hunting
knife in front of him. He pointed it toward Owen.

Owen
spit blood and leaned on his right leg, as his left leg was a mangle of skin
and muscle where Luger had bitten him.

Scut
laughed. “You brought this on yourself.” Scut pointed to Owen’s bloody leg.
“Give it back and this will all be over.”

Owen
shook his head and wiped his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scut
stared at him a moment. “I think you do.”

“You
attacked me and my wife and my buddy. Tell me what you want.” Owen struggled to
stand and leaned on Darryl for support. He shook his head and looked at the
kid. “You want my truck? Take it. Take it and get outta here.”

Scut
let out a frustrated scream and lifted his arms. He turned and walked a couple
of steps toward the tree line, then flipped around to rage violently at Owen.
“I don’t want your truck, old man. You know that. You know exactly what I’m
talking about.”

Listening
to Scut yell at her husband, Rayanne watched from the safety of her tree. Her
eyes locked with Owen’s and he raised a hand, motioning for her to stay. Owen
took a step away from Darryl, struggling to stand on his own. Darryl placed a
hand on Owen’s back, supporting him.

Scut
was still yelling. “You got bigger things to worry about than your truck, old
man.” He pulled a switchblade from his boot and took another step closer. Roddy
and Nelson, surrounding Darryl and Owen, stepped closer too. Scut signaled to
them. Nelson poised the baseball bat, ready to swing. Roddy straightened his
left arm, gripping the hunting knife.

Rayanne’s
eyes were locked with Owen’s. Then she looked down and saw the shotgun lying on
the ground beneath the tree. She began skittering down the trunk.

Owen
yelled something to her, but during that moment of inattention Scut struck. The
teen leapt toward Owen, aiming the knife at his face. Owen turned, stepping
back, and the blade missed him, but even so, the full force of Scut’s body
slammed into his shoulder. He tried to push Scut away, but felt a sudden
searing pain in his stomach. Scut had plunged the knife deep between Owen’s
ribs. Owen doubled over as Scut pulled the knife out. Owen dropped to his knees
and Scut stabbed him again, in the left shoulder. Owen cried out in agony.
Falling face forward, he caught himself on the rear bumper of the Chevy.

Darryl
swung furiously at Scut, hitting him in the temple and knocking him back. Then
he stepped in front of Owen, placing his body between Scut and his friend. Scut
held up the knife.

As
she moved, Rayanne watched in horror. She scrambled down the lower part of the
tree, her bare foot hitting the dirt first. She picked up the shotgun. Raising
it, she fired in the air. Again the shot echoed in the woods. She aimed the gun
at Scut.

Scut
dropped the switchblade. Roddy tossed down his hunting knife and raised his
hands as Nelson lowered the bat. Blood spatters covered his white sling.

“You
stabbed him,” Nelson said, breaking the silence brought on by the gunshot.

Scut
swung around to face him. Nelson dropped the bat and repeated, “You stabbed the
old man.”

Darryl
knelt next to Owen, wrapping an arm around him to help him stand. Blood
drenched Owen’s shirt near his stomach and shoulder. Bloody meat dangled like
fishing bait between the shreds of his pant leg. Darryl cringed and looked over
at Rayanne.

“Owen’s
hurt. Bad,” he said.

Still
holding the Winchester upright, she rushed past Nelson.

“We
were just ’posed to scare ’em.” Nelson raised his good arm and ran a hand over
the top of his head, then turned to Scut. “You went too far, man! We were just
’posed to scare ’em!”

Both
boys seemed to ignore Rayanne as she came to her husband. She handed the shotgun
to Darryl and took Owen into her arms. She held him, pressed his face into the
curve of her neck. She had to get him out of there. But how? She looked back at
the teenage boys.

Scut,
several feet away, was bent forward with his hands on his knees as if trying to
catch his breath. Nelson was yelling at him.

“No
way we’re gett’n paid now.” Nelson flipped around, facing the woods. He looked
down at his right arm, seemed to notice the blood on the sling, and tore it off
his shoulder. The sling dropped to the ground. He yelled, “This can’t be
happening. You weren’t paid to stab him. This can’t be happening!”

Scut
suddenly straightened. He reached for the baseball bat lying on the ground next
to Rayanne’s feet. She flinched as he grabbed it. But he wasn’t interested in
her. Holding the bat in both hands, he marched over to Nelson and reached for
him with his free hand.

Scut
flipped Nelson around as he muttered, then raised the bat. He swung and struck
Nelson hard in the gut. Nelson grunted and doubled over. Scut readied the bat
again and whacked him across the back. Nelson fell to the ground. Scut kicked
him, screaming, “You pay me for this, huh? Is this what you paid me for?”

Nelson
groaned, and Scut kicked him again. “This is exactly what you paid me for! Do
you hear me? Exactly what you paid me for!”

Like
a hyena, Rude Roddy ran toward them, laughing. Rayanne watched him approach
Scut, who was kicking Nelson on the ground. Darryl touched her shoulder.

“We
gotta go,” he said to her. “I’ll take Owen. You go start the truck.”

Rayanne
stared blankly at Darryl a moment, not fully understanding what he’d said. He
took Owen’s weight from her, then yelled, “Rayanne, get the truck started.”

Rayanne
released her husband, then cast a glance back at Scut and Roddy. They were
distracted, still kicking Nelson on the ground and laughing over him. She looked
at the black Chevy.

Darryl
yelled at her again as he put an arm around Owen. Rayanne ran along the truck
bed, over the trailer hitch, to the driver’s side. She looked back at her
husband. Owen’s body slumped and his head titled against his right shoulder.
His feet were dragging and left grooves in the dirt behind them as Darryl
wrangled him closer to the front of the truck. She knew Owen was unconscious.
Probably passed out from the pain, or the blood loss, and she prayed it was
nothing worse. But what could be worse?

She
couldn’t think about that right now, and she stared at the truck, having
trouble concentrating. Darryl yelled at her again, and Rayanne opened the Chevy
door. She jumped up into the driver’s seat.

Darryl
came over to the passenger side. The door had been left hanging open, and he
hoisted Owen’s body into the seat. Blood smeared the leather when Owen’s body
slipped sideways toward the center console. Darryl slammed the door shut.
Rayanne found the keys left in the ignition and she cranked the engine.

She
saw Scut and Roddy through the windshield as their heads turned.

Darryl
dove in, slammed the back door shut, and yelled, “Drive!”

She
threw the gearshift into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal. The engine
stalled. Darryl yelled again as she fumbled with the key. She turned it. The
engine choked.

Scut,
still holding the baseball bat, came closer. He walked to the front grille and
slammed the bat on the hood with a loud thud. He aimed the bat again and
brought it down with such force it shook the truck. Rayanne screamed.

Through
the glass she could hear Scut yelling and she saw Roddy nearby with a rock. He
threw it and it cracked the windshield. Scut swung the bat again and she heard
glass shatter.

A
headlight, she thought. He broke a headlight. She turned the key again and
looked up to see Scut through the cracked windshield. She heard more yelling
from the two boys as they rocked the truck.

She
turned the key. The engine sputtered. Darryl yelled at her as he removed his
glasses and used his shirttail to wipe blood from the lenses. He slipped them
back on his nose and opened the door. Rayanne started to say something to him
as he jumped out of the truck. Maybe he was going after Scut and Roddy, she
wasn’t sure. She turned the key again. Darryl slammed the door shut.

She
watched him come around the front of the truck and reach for Roddy. Scut
stopped beating the hood with the baseball bat.

Darryl’s
fist hit Roddy’s face. The teen stumbled and fell against the black bug shield,
lessening the impact with his right arm. Pushing off the hood of the truck, he
swung his huge fist into Darryl’s neck. Coming beside Roddy, Scut launched a
savage kick at Darryl’s groin. Darryl dropped out of sight and Rayanne screamed
his name. Scut turned to smile at her, tossed the baseball bat from hand to
hand, and let it hover over his head a moment.

Rayanne
couldn’t watch. She could hear the thwaaap of Scut’s bat, but nothing from
Darryl. She shook her head, pushing the thought away. She turned the key again.
The engine started. She pressed down on the pedal, and the truck lunged in
reverse. The empty boat trailer turned in the opposite direction, bending back
toward her. She slammed on the brakes, lunging them forward, then moved the
gear into drive. Her foot mashed the accelerator and the truck rushed forward.
The trailer rattled behind them.

Rayanne
could think of nothing else but escape. Racing forward on the dirt path, she
drove faster, with a reckless disregard for the jutting trailer or the truck’s
undercarriage. The Chevy jerked and thumped, smashing through branches and tree
limbs. Rayanne didn’t care. She wanted to get to the county road. Get to the
road, she told herself. Her foot mashed the gas pedal, thrusting the truck
forward, faster, crashing through branches. She turned her head to look behind.

She
couldn’t see anything but trees. The kids were no longer in sight. She turned
around and saw the black van directly in front of her. It was heading straight
for her.