A Dark Autumn Page 8

You really believe that?

  They’d left Lucy back at the camp, cocooned in blankets and duct tape. Amanda had wanted to bury her, but was scolded by Helen for suggesting it.

  Michelle replayed the night in her mind, and could still feel the effects of Ricky inside her, spreading her open like a ghost penis. She was sore. She’d taken all of his length inside her and was suffering for it. Britt wasn’t small either, but compared to Ricky, he might as well have been infant sized.

  Her throat tightened.

  Britt. She’d forgotten all about her boyfriend, the man she assumed she would one day marry. Should they get away with what Helen had convinced them of doing, how could she possibly ever look at Britt again? Would she be able to enjoy his touch, or the feel of him? Would she ever want sex with him again?

  As much as she wanted to say no as a way of punishing herself, she knew that eventually she would want all those things. In fact, she already craved Britt’s arms tight around her back, and nestling her head into the small area between his shoulder and neck. She should have just canceled this damn weekend trip and waited until Britt was free to make it. None of this would have happened, and her life would have remained as it had been.

  Helen halted. The three of them gathered around a tree to the side of the cabin. The windows were dark. It looked quiet inside, peaceful.

  Guilt gnawed at Michelle’s belly.

  “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. Michelle, you go around back and see if you can get in that way, I’m going to try the front door.”

  “What about me?” asked Amanda.

  “You hang around the yard and keep an eye out. His car is still parked over there, so he obviously hasn’t gone anywhere. If he comes out and we don’t see him, it’s up to you to keep him from getting to his car.”

  “Huh-how?”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  Amanda made a face. Her eyes narrowed, misting as she apparently realized the only way to stop him was to kill him.

  Helen tugged her backpack off her shoulders, sat it on the ground and squatted next to it. Rummaging inside, she glanced over her shoulder every other thump of Michelle’s drumming heartbeat. Finally, she stood. In one hand were two pocket knives, and in the other was a rock. “These knives were Roger’s, but I brought the rock from the campsite. Didn’t want us going in empty handed.”

  Empty-handed…

  Helen was serious. They were really about to kill a man. Michelle looked at the knives. The handles were the size of cigarette lighters, so the blades couldn’t have been any longer than her pinky. She took an offered knife. Helen gave Amanda the rock and kept a knife for herself.

  “Is everyone ready?” Helen asked.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” said Amanda, holding the rock as if she’d never seen one before.

  “Crack his fucking skull if you have to.”

  Shaking her head, Amanda gave the rock to Michelle. “I can’t…do that.”

  “For Godsake Amanda…”

  “Hold on,” said Michelle. “Here.” She passed the knife to Amanda. “I’ll take the rock.”

  Amanda looked relieved.

  “It brought me luck once already.”

  “Whatever.” Helen shook her head. “Let’s get moving.”

  They separated. Helen and Amanda went to the right and Michelle circled around the left. Her legs felt rubbery. The rock was a jagged weight in her hand. Trying not to think about what it was they’d come here to do, she kept her attention focused on being quiet, but it was impossible to silence her movements from all the leaves.

  She stepped around the corner of the house where the yard angled down to the start of the woods. She scanned the area. There didn’t seem to be anyone back here. She kept moving, walking alongside the back deck. It was two head-lengths above her and open underneath. She noticed a lawn tractor parked down there, various yard tools and trash cans. She was tempted to take the garden weasel she saw leaning against the paneling, but decided to just keep her rock. Although the spikes on the weasel’s dial would hurt him more, the rock was easier to carry.

  At the stairs, she froze. The sliding glass doors up top were opened, the white curtain waving in and out through the gap. He’s been here. Of course he’d been here; this was where he was staying. She wondered if he’d left the door open last night when he’d left, or if he just never closed it when he came home. Only one way to find out… She set a wobbly foot down on the first step, took a deep breath, and climbed another one. Halfway up, she spotted one of Ricky’s boots at the top of the stairs. It lay on its side, mud caked on the bottom. She wondered if it was the one that had crushed Lucy’s throat.

  Clutching the rock so tight in her hand it hurt, she went all the way up. She stood at the top of the stairs and looked around. Ricky’s clothes were scattered all over the deck. His other boot was just outside the door. It looked as if he’d stripped naked on his way inside and hadn’t bothered closing the door behind him.

  Was he still inside?

  Was he waiting for them?

  As she cautiously inched closer to the backdoor, something shattered from inside.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Amanda patrolled the front of the house, puffing on the moist end of a cigarette. She hated the way her lips slurped the filter, dampening the paper, and eventually causing it to tear off in her mouth. She’d often tried to change the way her lips formed around it to no avail.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Lucy, her cold hollow eyes, the deep gulley where her throat had been. She could still feel the bone deep chill of her lifeless skin on her hands as they’d wrapped her in the blankets Michelle had brought. Amanda had begged them to bury her. She thought Helen was going to hit her for even suggesting it. So, instead of dwelling on Lucy, she’d tried making herself feel just as bad about Ricky, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t do it.

  She hated to think he’d deserved what he’d gotten.

  Great, now I sound like Helen.

  Amanda assumed Helen hated men thanks to Roger, but she had no idea it was with such severity. The rage she saw in Helen’s eyes when Ricky confessed he was gay had been frightening.

  And they still weren’t finished with him yet. There was one more thing left to do before this nightmare would finally be over.

  They had to kill Ricky.

  That was what Helen had brought them here to do. She said they could claim he’d attacked them in the woods, and they’d chased him back here and accidentally killed him during the confrontation.

  Nails grumbled in her stomach.

  There was no way they’d get away with it. But at least they would have killed the asshole who’d murdered harmless Lucy. Yes, she’d gotten her rocks off just like the rest of them, but it seemed justified when she thought of Lucy doing it. The poor girl had earned a little action, maybe even deserved it.

  But she had not deserved getting killed. If any of them had to die, Amanda wished it had been Helen. It was her idea originally, and they’d just followed her like little sheep.

  An idea sparked.

  That could be her defense. She could say Helen forced them to attack Ricky. And they feared what she might do to them if they resisted. She smiled. That just might work. She’d have to get Michelle alone and propose the idea to her, because it would only be believable if both of them put the blame on Helen. She doubted Michelle would argue with her.

  Amanda walked across the front yard, puffing on the cigarette. She tasted paper. Had she already smoked it down to the filter? She checked the cigarette. There was no tobacco left, only the cotton filter, and it was starting to burn. She dropped it on the ground, stomping it out with her shoe. As she removed another cigarette from the pack, she noticed a subtle movement from the corner of her eye.

  She turned around.

  Across the yard and diagonal from the cabin was the woodshed. Just as her eyes locked on the rickety structure, she spotted someone stepping behind i
t. Not Ricky. She only saw a glimpse, but it was enough for her to recognize this person was female.

  Amanda sighted white clothes, long red hair, and tanned slender legs in a flash.

  Who else was out here?

  “Huh-hello?” She’d spoken although she hadn’t wanted to, but doubted the mystery woman had heard it. Not only had she been too far away, but her voice had croaked.

  Amanda glanced over her shoulder. The cabin sat silently behind her like an ill-omened presence. It was as if it had swallowed Michelle and Helen and was waiting for her. She looked back at the shed, allowing her legs to carry her closer. She spotted a tower of logs inclined against the building.

  The woman’s tall shape came into view at the rear of the shed. Her back was turned toward Amanda, and she couldn’t see her hands. Like maybe she had her arms crossed over her chest. She wore only a short white skirt with a long sleeved white shirt that draped her buttocks. It reminded Amanda of how she’d put on a guy’s clothes after sex to go to the bathroom or something. They’d be baggy and draping her tiny body.

  But this woman wasn’t tiny, she was lean and taut. The wind rustled strands of her red hair. The fire-colored locks reached the curve of her back.

  Amanda’s hands were trembling, so she clenched them shut. She felt something flaky in her hand. Opening it, she realized she’d accidentally broken her last cigarette. Another pack was in her bag at Michelle’s cabin.

  “Why are you here?”

  Amanda’s stomach lurched. The soft voice was like an explosion in the still air.

  The redhead spoke again. “Are you here to see Ricky?”

  Shaking her head, Amanda mouthed words that just wouldn’t come.

  Then the redhead turned around.

  A scream snagged in Amanda’s throat when she saw her face. Familiar, albeit poorly painted with makeup. Black smears around the eyes, blurry red lips from lipstick that looked to have been applied with shaky hands. And deep blue hues on her cheeks that looked like bruises.

  Amanda pushed some words out of her mouth. “What-what-what…”

  Red tilted her head as if trying to understand her. Then she raised the two-bladed ax she’d been hugging to her chest.

  Too shocked to react, or possibly too shocked to care, Amanda only watched as the redhead raised the ax above her head.

  “No one will ever hurt Ricky again…” She brought the ax down.

  Amanda felt it split the top of her skull. She felt its impact in the roots of her teeth, but only for a brief moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Fucking lamp,” said Helen, both hands on her hips. Michelle looked on in disbelief. “Who the hell puts a lamp right by the stupid door?” Helen kicked a shard of broken porcelain against the wall.

  From what Michelle had gathered in her brief scan of the room was Helen, upon entering through the front door had turned left, then bumped into the small table supporting the lamp and knocked it over where it busted when it struck the floor.

  She was lucky she hadn’t been cut. Better yet, she was absolutely fortunate Ricky hadn’t been near enough to hear her and surprise her with an assault.

  “How are we going to explain this?” Helen spoke as if Michelle had been the one to break it.

  Michelle shrugged.

  Helen swatted the air. “We’ll think of something later, first things first.” She walked through the living room, slowly spinning a circle as she took it all in.

  The cabin was quaint, a picturesque, relaxing lodge just big enough for two. Michelle went left, approaching what looked to be an office. A collapsible table had been setup against the wall where it looked out a window to a wonderful view of the mountainside and lake. The sun was rising in the east, showering the yard in gold, and shimmering rippling waves of light from the lake. It was absolutely beautiful. She wondered if she’d get the chance to park on the way home to enjoy the view from her favorite lookout.

  She certainly hoped so.

  She could hear Helen moving around in the living room, the frantic stomp of her feet as she darted back and forth.

  Michelle stopped at the table. She pulled her eyes away from the lovely spectacle on the other side of the window, and snooped around his desk. There were papers, bowed from handling, stacked beside a laptop. Paragraphs were printed from the top of the page to the bottom with various words scribbled out and their replacements scrawled above them in red.

  A manuscript?

  She picked up the papers. Gazing through the stack, she found even more pages with a lot more red markings. She reached the final page. A title page. The name of the author was printed underneath.

  Laura Kelly.

  A scream tickled her throat. Chills scurried up her spine and into her scalp. Her mind flashed back to her apartment, and as if viewing it through a camera, it rapidly zoomed to her bookcase. The second shelf was where she stored her romance books, and her three favorites were first. She could see their spines, the creases up and down the titles from multiple readings, the dog-eared pages, and coffee dots. The Lust series. All of them had been penned by Laura Kelly, her favorite romance author. She’d always enjoyed her trashy, yet slick style, and honest depictions and stories.

  “Oh…my God…”

  I’m a writer, she heard Ricky say.

  What do you write?

  He hadn’t wanted to answer the question and give away his secret identity. His pen name. Ricky was Laura Kelly, the romance writer.

  “Huh-Helen?”

  “Yeah?” She called back from what sounded like the rear of the cabin.

  “You need to get in here. Q-quick.”

  “What’s wrong?” The cabin rattled as Helen’s feet smacked the floor. She stopped at the doorway, winded. “Are you okay?”

  Michelle turned around, holding the pages with trembling hands. “My God, Helen… We fucked up… We fucked up so bad…”

  Helen’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. “What do you mean? What did you find?”

  “Ever heard of Laura Kelly?”

  Helen made a face. “The author?”

  Michelle nodded.

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Ricky is Laura Kelly.”

  The confused expression slowly melted into panic. “No…he’s…he can’t be…”

  “He is.” She held the papers out to Helen. She took them. “Remember, he said he’s a writer? This is what he was writing.”

  Helen’s eyes whisked from left to right as she read the words in front of her. “Oh shit… What are we going to do?” She whispered it as if asking herself more than Michelle.

  “You tell me.”

  Helen’s panic was short lived. “This doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

  “It has to.”

  “Why? Why does it?”

  “Because, he’s known. It’s not like he’s some kind of Jack Nobody and the police will believe he could have done what you want them to believe. He’s an author. A lot of people know him, and they can blow a hole in the plan…”

  “No. Famous people do stupid shit all the time just because they think they can get away with it. And he’s nowhere near real fame.”

  Helen stopped talking and looked past Michelle. Her eyes continued to move inside her head as if they were trying to keep up with the frantic thoughts behind them.

  She spoke again. “Actually…this is even better. Yeah.” She waved a finger. “We’ll tell them he invited us back to his cabin to show us his new book. Then he tried to use his success to get us to fuck him. But we wouldn’t, and he went crazy.”

  Michelle felt dizzy and sick. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any crazier… “What about the campsite?”

  “We’ll leave that part out.”

  “And Lucy?”

  Helen shrugged. “We’ll bring her here. Make it look like he killed her here.”

  Shaking her head, Michelle jerked Ricky’s manuscript from Helen’s hands, then threw it on the table. Her head was still moving when s
he said, “Absolutely not. I will not do that.” The thought of having to touch her gelid skin again was awful.

  “Yes…you will.”

  Michelle couldn’t speak.

  “You’ll help me move her to fucking North Dakota if it means keeping us out of jail.”

  “Helen…listen to yourself. You sound—”

  “Don’t say crazy. You better not.”

  Michelle shook her head. “I was going to say you sound like a bitch.”

  Helen smirked. “You doubt me. Have I ever done you any wrong?”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you even hear what’s coming out of your mouth?”

  “I’m just trying to make sure you’re still on Team Helen.”

  Michelle wound her hand back, clenched a fist and swung. Expecting to feel the soft skin of Helen’s cheek again, it was caught halfway there. Helen gripped Michelle by the wrist. She gave it a harsh squeeze, then she threw her hand down. “Fine.” Helen back-stepped, keeping her eyes on Michelle. “I’ll just get Amanda, and we’ll go get her without you.”

  “Leave Lucy alone.”

  “She’s dead. I don’t really think she minds.”

  Michelle took a step toward Helen, ready to lunge. She wanted to slap and claw her face until there was only meaty pulp left. But when she saw who was standing behind Helen she froze.

  With her eyes focused on Michelle, Helen was oblivious to what awaited her. Her back bumped against it. Realizing someone was behind her, her scowl relaxed to a mask of worry. “Michelle…”

  “Oh my God…”

  Slowly, Helen turned around. Michelle couldn’t see her expression, but figured it was the same as her own. The red hair was deceiving, as was the white shirt and skirt. The long legs were slender, yet muscular with large ankles. The hands that gripped the wooden ax handle were beefy, with worm-like veins jutting underneath the skin. Although it was crudely decorated with makeup, the face underneath the bright colors was easily identifiable.

  The ax swung in an arch. The blade hit Helen’s neck on the right side and kept going all the way through. Her head launched, spinning in flight, and with shock frozen on its face. It struck the floor with a wet thud as the body danced, spurting blood from the jagged stump between its shoulders. Then it dropped on its side, two feet from the severed head.