A Death On The Wolf (33 page)

I went out to the barn and looked for Frankie. I even checked up in the hay loft. He was nowhere to be found. I called Bear until he came running up and I was about to lead him by the collar back over to Aunt Charity’s when I noticed Frankie’s bicycle was not under the carport. “His radio,” I said aloud.

After I got Bear settled in the garage, I went in the house and found Daddy sitting in the den with Sachet in his lap. He was reading her a story. “Daddy, Frankie’s bike is gone. I think he went down to the cabin to get his radio.”

“
That boy,” Daddy said exasperatedly. He started to get up, but my sister would have none of that.

“
No, Daddy,” she pleaded. “You have to finish the story.”

Daddy fell back in the chair and looked at me. “Take the Honda and go get him and y’all get right back here.”

“
I’ve already got Bear in the garage, so you’re gonna have to come hold him for me to get the bike out,” I said. “Soon as I open that door he’ll be gone.”

“
Let me up, baby girl, so I can help your brother,” Daddy said. “I’ll be right back.” Reluctantly, Sachet slid out of Daddy’s lap so he could get up.

“
The wind is really kicking up,” Daddy said as he held Bear by the collar and I rolled the Honda out into the driveway. “The rain is gonna be starting any time now, so just leave Frankie’s bike in the cabin and you two get back here fast, understand?”

“
Yes, sir,” I said and hit the starter button. The engine spun to life. I blipped the throttle a couple of times and then took off.

I kept my speed down to about 30 because the wind gusts were blowing me all over the place. I’d forgotten I still had the messenger bag slung over my shoulder until it started beating against me from the wind buffeting. When I got to the head of the trail leading down to the cabin and our spot on the river, I decided just to leave the Honda parked on the side of the road. The way the wind was blowing, I didn’t want to take a chance on riding down to the beach and have a branch, or even a tree, fall across the path where I couldn’t get back out.

The sound of the wind whipping through the trees as I walked down the semi-dark path was kind of eerie and I began to wonder if Frankie had come down here to get his radio why he was still here. He knew a hurricane was coming. When I rounded the last bend in the path before it opened up onto the white sand beach, I froze. Frankie’s bike was lying in the sand at the edge of the woods. Parked out on the beach by itself was the Vincent Black Shadow.

Working against my catatonic neck muscles, I forced myself to scan the woods on either side of me. Because the sky had grown so dark, and the woods were so thick, it was really hard to see, but I was satisfied that Bong was not lurking in the shadows waiting to jump me. I could see our cabin through the trees and undergrowth about a hundred feet to my right. No one was around it, and I could not see the door from this angle. I had two choices: I could turn around and run back to the Honda and get the hell out of there, or I could try to find Frankie, who was no doubt in trouble. I quickly realized there was no time to go home and get the sheriff to help Frankie; I was his only hope. Tentatively, I made my way down the path right to the edge of the sand beach. I knew once I stepped out into the open, anyone down either side of the beach would be able to see me and whatever element of surprise I was foolish enough to think I had would be gone.

I wasn’t worried about trying to be quiet because the wind was making enough noise in the trees to mask any sounds I was making. This worked to my disadvantage too because I couldn’t hear any sounds Bong might be making if he was trying to sneak up on me. As I began to make my way along the edge of the sand over to the path we’d cut to the cabin, I said a little prayer that the Lord would be with me and that Frankie would be all right.

The gusts of wind were picking up sand and it was stinging my bare legs and getting in my eyes, but I pressed on. Finally, I made it to the path leading to the cabin. Now I could see the door and it was closed. I did another quick survey all around and still I didn’t see anyone. Back in the other direction, and around a slight cove in the river, was a section of our beach that was hidden from view. Frankie and I called it our “private beach” because it’s where we could come out of the water naked and lie on the sand without having to worry about being seen, should someone happen to wander down our path to the main beach. If Bong had Frankie over on that part of the beach, I’d practically have to get in the water to get over there.

Rather than back tracking to check that out, I decided to go on up to the cabin. I slowly made my way up the freshly cut path. As I got closer, I could see the door on the cabin wasn’t really closed; it was pushed to, but not closed all the way. My heart was racing so fast it gave me the jitters and I had to stop and mentally force myself to calm down. I had never been so scared in my life. I still had about twenty feet to go to the cabin, and it was only by sheer will power that I was able to overcome my fear enough to make my legs carry me that remaining distance.

After what seemed an eternity, I was finally standing in front of the cabin door. Try as I might, I could hear nothing coming from inside because of the wind whipping through the trees. It was strong enough that smaller dead branches were falling all around the cabin, and the sound of those breaking was loud enough to be heard over the wind. With my hand trembling, I reached out and pushed the door open. What I saw will be seared into my memory forever.

Peter Bong didn’t hear me; it was only the added light entering the cabin from my opening the door that let him know I was there behind him. When he leaned up off of Frankie and turned to look at me, it was as if Satan himself were staring a hole right through me. There was pure evil in his eyes. I gasped as I stumbled backwards, away from the door. In what seemed like slow motion, Peter Bong got to his feet and pulled his black jeans up in one seamless move. When I saw the glint of that Bowie knife on his belt, I knew I had to run but my legs felt like two lead pipes. That all changed when I saw his hand go for the hilt. I turned and ran as hard as I could.

I made it out onto the beach just as Peter Bong tackled me and knocked me to the sand right by his motorcycle. I rolled onto my back and kicked to try to scramble away, but he had latched onto my belt with his left hand and the harder I pushed away from him, the closer he pulled himself to me until, finally, he was on top of me. The wind was blowing the sand in our eyes and, even with the gusts, I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he put his face close to mine and said something. To this day I cannot recall what it was. It may have been so horrific that my young mind simply would not process the words and allow them into my memory. Out of the corner of my left eye I saw the blade of that big knife come up to my face and I knew I was about to die. Once I had accepted that fact, I quit struggling to get away. There was a small pocket knife in my right pocket, but with Peter Bong right on top of me there was no way I could get it out and unfold it. He could cut my throat before I could even get my hand in my pocket. I closed my eyes and after saying one more prayer for Frankie, I uttered the words Christ spoke on the cross at the moment of his death: “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit.”

I expected right then to feel the blade of Peter Bong’s knife on my throat, and I held my breath in anticipation of that cold steel slicing through me. But then the strangest thing happened. As I had quit struggling and relaxed every muscle in my body, I’d gone limp and I realized my right hand was under me and something was jabbing me in the back. I moved my hand in the sand under me until I touched the object and suddenly my resolve to die at the hands of this madman was gone. I was lying on the messenger bag. The bag I’d put a flashlight in just a little while ago. The bag I’d put my father’s Colt .38 Special in just a little while ago.

I kept my eyes closed as my hand found the flap on the bag. I tried not to move too much so Peter Bong would not figure out what I was doing. Whatever the reason he was delaying my demise, I didn’t want to change the status quo. If he was having second thoughts about killing me, that was fine. Once I got the gun out of the bag, I knew I would have none. My hand found the pistol in the bag just as the first heavy drops of rain began to strike my face. I had my fingers around the grip and I leaned up enough to relieve the pressure on the bag. I opened my eyes to see Peter Bong still over me, but with his head turned to look up at the dark sky and the huge rain drops that were starting to fall. That was the opening I needed. I pulled the Colt from the bag and stuck the muzzle to his chest. And, just as he turned those devil eyes back to me, I pulled the trigger.

That close to my face, the blast from the gun shut down my ear drums and suddenly there was no more wind noise. There was no more sound of any kind except a squealing ring in my ears as I watched Peter Bong move back, his face contorting in surprise and pain. His eyes were squinted shut. When he opened them to look at me again I pulled the trigger again. The gunshot this time sounded like a little puff as Peter Bong fell back and rolled off me.

I scrambled to my feet and looked at the gun in my hand. It had blood on it. I could not believe I’d just shot a man. It took a few seconds, but the stinging cold rain drops forced me out of my daze and I remembered where I was and why I’d come here. Frankie. I stuffed the revolver back in the messenger bag and ran up the path to the cabin. Frankie was still lying face down on my sleeping bag that we’d left there the night before. His Bermuda shorts and underwear were down around his ankles, which Bong had tied together with some of the old string left over from our lining off the foundation of the cabin. Frankie’s wrists were tied together with more string and his mouth was gagged with Bong’s black bandana. I pulled it from his mouth, got out my pocket knife, and cut the strings tying him up. When Frankie finally opened his eyes and saw it was me he started screaming something, but my ears were ringing so badly I couldn’t hear him well enough to understand what he was saying. I helped him get his underwear and shorts pulled up and then he threw his arms around me and hugged me and started crying. I could barely hear his sobs but I didn’t need to; I could feel them. I knew we had to get out of there. The rain was coming down harder, the wind was getting stronger, and I didn’t know if Peter Bong was dead or not. For all I knew he could be coming for us with that knife right then.

“
Come on Frankie,” I said. “We’ve got to get home.” I could hardly hear my own words; they sounded like they were echoing in my head instead of coming out my mouth. I helped Frankie to his feet, and with him holding on to me, we stumbled down the path and out onto the beach. Peter Bong was still lying where he’d fallen and the white sand around him was covered in dark red blood. Frankie and I made our way back up the path. We got on the Honda, and with the rain coming down steady now, I started the engine and we headed for home.

Chapter 20

A Night to Remember

The rain was coming down hard as Frankie and I pulled into Aunt Charity’s driveway. We had just gotten off the Honda when Daddy’s pickup came around the house, the windshield wipers flapping away. He was coming to look for us. When he saw us through his fogged over windshield, he waved and turned around to return the truck to the relative safety of the back yard.

I left the Honda sitting in the rain and took Frankie in through the front door since the garage was closed. We went straight to the bathroom and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the huge vanity mirror over the double sinks I was shocked to see blood all over my shirt. The rain had diluted it to a deep pink. Frankie was a mess. He was shivering so badly his teeth were chattering as he sat on the edge of the bath tub. I was cold from the rain too, but my adrenaline rush was keeping my nerves and body temperature in check. My ears were still ringing but my hearing was almost back to normal.

“
What’s wrong with Frankie?” Sachet said from the doorway.

I turned to her. “Get out!” I yelled. The look of surprise on her face only lasted a second before she burst into tears and went running back down the hall.

I focused my attention back on Frankie. He was shaking and had a spaced out look on his face. I didn’t know what to do. I put my hands on his face to force him to look at me and that’s when I saw his eyes were no longer brown, they were all black. His pupils were so dilated they had completely crowded out the iris of each eye leaving just black holes. Frankie tried to say something.

“
What?” I said.

“
Pills,” Frankie said in a hoarse whisper between chattering teeth. “He made me swallow some pills.” I jumped up and sprinted for the door and ran squarely into my father.

“
What’s going on? Why’d you yell at your sister?” he said.

“
Daddy, Peter Bong had Frankie down at the cabin. He made him take some pills. We need to make him throw up.”

“
What?!”

I didn’t have time for Daddy to comprehend what I’d just said. I pushed by him and ran down the hall and to the kitchen. Aunt Charity was standing at the sink. “I need to give Frankie something to make him throw up,” I said, panting.

My aunt turned to me. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“
Aunt Charity, please…I don’t have time to explain. What can I give him to make him throw up?”

“
Nelson, tell me what is going on right now.”