Black Water Creek (16 page)

Chapter
27

Paul killed the headlights before he turned into Ed and Sue’s driveway. The house was dark and he knew from experience from his sleepovers as a kid what a light sleeper his aunt was. He slowly rolled past their house and kept the lights off as his Jeep rolled down hill toward Kelly’s cottage.

He’
d been in the bathroom when she’d called. Even though she didn’t leave a message, Paul took it as a sign she wanted to talk. Unless it was an accidental butt dial, but even so, he had to give it another shot.

Paul
had thought the nightmares were over. Sure, he’d get a bad dream from time to time like anybody else, but it had been months since anything closely related to the war haunted his sleep. During the day he could handle the random thoughts, the constant reminders of the horrors he’d seen and the friends he lost. The coping exercises he’d learned were one of the few useful things he’d picked up from his brief stint with the shrinks. Nightmares were different, though. They trapped you. Kept you in their world until they took mercy and let you wake up.

The dream at Kelly’s the other night was unlike any he’d ever experienced. So vivid.
On some level he knew it wasn’t real, most dreams are like that. But for a brief moment when he was fighting that insurgent to the death, the line between dream and reality had vanished.

Paul gripped the steering wheel and gritted his teeth, trying to keep the image from his mind. The look of terror in Kelly’s eyes as he practically chocked the life out of her. He was going to try once more to ask for forgiveness, but did he deserve it?

He sighed and shook his head as the cottage came into view. He’d have plenty of time to work that crap out on his own. For now he needed to concentrate on talking to Kelly. He needed to make things right, if not for their relationship, then at least to make sure she and Keegan were okay.

Even though he could see the driveway just fine in the full moon he
decided to turn the headlights back on to alert his presence. Kelly didn’t need a dark vehicle creeping up to her house late at night. Paul reached for the headlight knob and paused.

His heartbeat ticked up a notch and
he held his breath as he shifted the Jeep into neutral and slowly let roll to a stop. Something wasn’t right. It was an instinct he’d felt most of his life and one he learned to embrace and hone during his deployment.

It wasn’t foolproof, but many times during his time in country he’d sensed danger before it came. A strange buzzing, almost…tickling in the back of his head
and a tightening in his chest. The moment before a surprise rocket attack. An IED fifty feet down the road. An ambush waiting to happen around the corner. The guys in his platoon joked about “Sergeant Horton’s Spidey Senses” on more than one occasion but they never doubted his uncanny ability to sense danger. It only failed him once and cost him his leg as the result.

Paul killed the engine a good thirty feet from the cottage and quietly open the door. He sat for a moment, absently rubbing his sore leg above the prosthetic. On the surface, everything seemed normal. Kelly’s truck was in the driveway and the lights in the house were on.

He quietly slipped out of the Jeep and crept closer to the house, watching the windows for movement. He knew if he got any closer the motion lights Ed installed would  kick in so he stopped and watched the house.

Paul sighed in relief as a shadow passed the window. It was official, he was just being paranoid. Probably just procrastinating because he was nervous about seeing Kelly. He shoved his hands in his pocket
s and walked forward, the lights turning on as expected and flooding the yard with light.

He heard a thump from within the house followed by what could have been a scream and his self-doubt vanished. Paul awkwardly ran for the house on the uneven and slippery drive. His stump cried out as the end cap of his false leg dug painfully into the remains of his leg. Between the cold
weather and the long day, he was in no shape to be running. He was in no shape to run even on the best of days.

A gunshot rang out from inside the house just as Paul’s prosthetic foot hit a rock on the driveway and sent him tumbling forward. He tried to break the fall with his hands but only managed to get a palm full of icy gravel
that drew blood. He fumbled in his pockets for his cell phone before remembering that it was plugged into the car charger. It might as well have been a hundred miles away.

Paul supported his weight with his good leg and got to his feet. Sergeant
Horton’s Spidey Senses screamed at him to turn back as he lunged for the door. Go back and dial 911. Wait for the cops.

He hit the door with his left shoulder at full stride, the old frame buckling from the impact and shattering inward. Paul practically tripped over Kelly, lying on her back, her chest covered in blood.

Movement to the right.

Paul turned just in time to see the gun pointed at him a split second before it fired.

Chapter 28

Kelly opens her eyes. She’s back on the table, legs and arms bound with thick leather straps. Hoskins busies himself on the other side of the room.

“It was the war,” he says, in the middle of a
one sided conversation. “It wasn’t until I had the privilege of experiencing combat did I feel truly alive. Truly feel the precious gift of life your kind takes for granted. I always knew I was a little…different from others, even as a child. It was war that shaped me into the man I am today.”

He turns to her, holding a scalpel. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Elizabeth. Do you want to know about the first man I killed in the war? Well, not quite a man. He was young, just barely eighteen.”

Hoskins approaches her. Without cutting in to her skin, he slowly runs the scalpel blade down her sternum to her belly. He pauses at her pubic mound, increasing the pressure of the blade. The slightest movement is all it would take to slice her flesh.

“He was one of my own. A private just weeks out of basic training.
Poor fellow never had a chance. Shot in the neck, you see. I shouted for the man next to me to find the medic, and as he ran off I found myself alone with the young man amongst the chaos of battle.”

Pressure of the blade lessens and Kelly allows herself to breathe again. Hoskins slowly starts to drag the tip of the scalpel over the contours of her breasts.

“I held my hand on the wound, trying to staunch the blood, but there was so much. So much blood. I held my hand tight on his neck as the boy looked into my eyes and it oozed between my fingers. He was so young and afraid. Just like you.”

Hoskins places the tip of the blade
under her chin and presses. Kelly bites her lip to keep from shouting out as the tip pierces her skin. He leans forward, just inches from her face.

“I liked it, Elizabeth,” he whispers. “Oh how I loved holding th
at boy’s life in my hands. Before I knew what was happening I had both hands on his neck. Not keeping pressure on the wound, but squeezing harder, squeezing the life out of him. He knew. The look in his eyes, he knew what I was doing, and oh…”

Hoskins leans back,
his hands raised over his head, pure ecstasy on his face. He sighs and looks back down at Kelly, strokes her arm with the back of his gloved hand. “It was at that moment that I was reborn. Do you know some say war is hell, Elizabeth? Well, I loved it from that moment on. I loved every single second until a German artillery shell stole it from me. The raw visceral feel of taking another man’s life. Sending him to the great beyond.” Hoskins gaze turns to Kelly and his grin spreads. “It’s intoxicating.”

“I’m not a man,” Kelly stutters. “I’m helpless. I have no weapons and I’m no threat to you. You’re sick. You’re a sick, twisted bastard.”

Hoskins shrugged. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. I’m man enough to admit that. What you don’t understand, my young Elizabeth, is that I don’t have a choice. A burning feeling comes over every fiber of my being. It gets to the point of being so painful that the only thing that can ease it is time down here in my,” he waves his hands, “recreation room. My little getaway in the woods.”

Hoskins drones on but his voice fades in Kelly’s ears
as an odd calmness and moment of clarity washes over her. She stops being afraid and finally understands what it is she’s supposed to do. Why she’s being plagued by the dreams. She turns her head and looks Hoskins in the eye.

“You’re not real,” she interrupts.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Kelly looks around the room. “This, all this. Even you, you’re not real. You’re just an image of the monster that used to slaughter innocent girls. An afterthought.
A spirit.”

Hoskins cocks his head. “What are you talking about?” He reaches over to his tray of implements and picks up a pair of tin snips. “Perhaps I’ll start off by cutting off your tongue. You’ll still be able to scream but a
t least I won’t have to hear any more of your nonsense.”

“You’re stuck here, aren’t you?
You’re like an old stain on this house. And because of that, all those poor girls are too.” Kelly clenches her fists. “It’s time for you to go, Harlan. Time for you to rot in hell and pay for what you’ve done.”

Hoskins backhands Kelly with all his strength. She laughs.

“You can’t hurt me, Harlan. This is just a dream for me and in here, I’m God.” Kelly pulls at the thick leather straps and feels them stretch before snapping. Hoskins jumps back, a wild look in his eyes. Fear. Kelly sits up on the table and unstraps her ankles. Slides her feet to the floor.

“That’s impossible,” Hoskins stammers. “Elizabeth
, how...”

“I’ve got news for you, Harlan. You’re dead. You’ve been dead for years and the world is a better place without you, believe me.” She stands. Hoskins takes a steps back, his confused face frozen in fear and disbelief.

“Oh, and another thing?” She closes her eyes and concentrates. Hoskins screams. She opens them to find herself fully clothed in one of her favorite outfits. She reaches for her hair, touching straight brown instead of curly red. “My name is Kelly.”

She
darts across the room and grabs him around the neck with one hand, lifting him off the floor. He clutches her hand, trying to pry her fingers free. She strikes Hoskins square in the chest with her open palm, sending him sailing into the wall behind him. He falls to the floor, leaving an imprint of his body in the crumbling plaster.

Kelly opens the bedroom door. In the living room stands at least a dozen of Hoskins
’ victims. Waiting. They slowly shuffle into the room, arms outstretched, reaching for the naked man on the floor. Most of the girls are covered in their own blood, riddled with lacerations and broken bones. Missing fingers and ears. Gaping chest wounds. At least two are completely decapitated.

“No!” Hoskins screams from the floor. “It’s not possible!”

“These girls are going to help you move on and get you out of my house forever.” Kelly reaches down and grabs ahold of his peg leg. “Let me get that for you.” Pulls it off and tosses it to the other side of the room. “Wouldn’t want you to get away.”

Kelly steps aside as the girls fill the room
. She squeezes through the door way as they file by. She slowly closes the bedroom door behind her, doing little to mask Hoskins’ screams of agony.

Chapter
29

The bullet passed so close to Paul’s head he felt the wake of the disturbed air against his hair as it shot past and smashed into the cabinet behind him. He dove behind the kitchen island a second before another shot rang out.

Paul looked back at Kelly lying on the floor and took half a second to appreciate the relief of seeing her chest rise and fall. Short and shallow
, but breaths all the same. There was still time. He scrambled into a crouching position, a difficult task, thanks to his prosthetic. His senses were in overdrive. The ringing in his ears. Sharp smell of cordite hanging in the air, the coppery odor of Kelly’s blood. She was just feet away beyond the safety of the kitchen island. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to go to her.

Paul frantically glanced around, knowing the maniac with the gun could round the corner any second and end his life. The wall phone mocked him, close enough to grab but in the line of fire. Knife set on the counter, same dilemma.

There was only one option. Try to talk. Try to earn some time in hopes Ed and Sue or maybe one of the neighbors heard the gunshots. He took a deep breath.

“Hey! I’m gonna stand up, real slowly. Don’t shoot. You don’t have to shoot, I’m not a threat.” No answer. “Okay? You hear me?” Paul held his breath and slowly got to his feet. He held his hands up and cleared the countertop.

A smile spread across Don’s face and he laughed. “Holy shit, I thought it was you.” He held the gun pointed at Paul’s chest and hopped slightly back and forth. Foot to foot. “I know you. You’re the gimpy bastard who’s banging Kelly. Shit, you scared the crap outta me.”

Paul glanced at Kelly and spread his hands farther apart. “She’s still breathing. There’s time to get help if you just let me dial 911. Trust me, it won’t be as bad for you if she doesn’t die.”

Don’s smiled evaporated. “What, you think I’m idiot? What makes you think I’m getting caught, motherfucker?” He pointed the gun at Paul’s face and took a step forward. “I’m gonna pop another round in her ass and do the same to you. How you like them apples?”

“You don’t wanna do that Don, think it through.
” He risked a half step forward.

“I know exactly what I want to do, stumpy.
You take another step and I’ll blow your goddamn head off.”

“Okay,
just take it easy.”

“Where’s my kid?
”

“I have no idea.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m serious, I just got here and didn’t talk to Kelly all day. I don’t know where he is.”

Don was getting more agitated as the seconds ticked by. He nervously glanced around the room. Paul knew he had to do something to defuse the situation or it was going to get a lot worse.

One of Kelly’s
knick-knacks on the entertainment tipped over and fell to the floor. Don risked a quick glance at the ceramic piggy bank as it rolled to a stop before he turned back to Paul. “Turn around and get on your knees.”

“You don’t want to do this, Don.”

Don pulled back the hammer on the pistol and shook his head. “Keep patronizing me, cocksucker. Just keep trying to talk your way out of this and see what happens.”

A videotape slid out of the VCR and fell to the floor next to the piggy bank. Winnie the Pooh. A picture behind Don moved slightly and rested at an angle. Paul could have sworn he felt some sort of vibration from the floor
beneath his good foot. The window behind him started rattling.

“I said, get on your knees!” Don spat.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

Paul lifted his bad leg. “I can’t kneel. I’m not trying to be difficult, I’m just telling you it’s not possible with this thing.”

Don rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “Then just turn the fuck around.”

The crooked picture behind Don flew off the wall and hit him in the back of the head. He flinched a second before another one of Kelly’s thrift store trinkets, a solid glass cat figurine, launched across the room and smacked Don in the arm.

It was the opening Paul was praying for. He cleared the ten foot space between
him and Don and went in low, his left hand going for Don’s wrist while driving his right fist into his stomach. Don managed to get another shot off, not hitting a thing besides the side of the fridge, but doing a number on Paul’s eardrum, just inches away.

Don bent over in pain, giving
Paul just enough time to use his other hand to try and pry the revolver from Don’s fingers. Don kept a death grip on the gun and used his left hand to deliver a painful blow on the side of Paul’s head.

Paul blocked another swing, managed to lift
Don’s arm so the gun was pointed at the ceiling, and planted his foot behind Don’s leg. He pushed forward, sending Don crashing to the floor and drove his knee into his chest. The gun finally fell from Don’s hand as he struggled for breath.

Paul delivered a perfectly timed and devastating blow to Don’s face, pulverizing his left orbital socket. Another punch shattered his nose.

“Paul!”

He stopped himself in the middle of a third
swing and slowly turned around. Ed stood in the doorway holding his shotgun, wide eyed and breathing heavily.

“Call 911!” Paul croaked. He slid of
f Don and crawled toward Kelly.

“Already did! Sue called ‘
em when we heard the gunshots. They should be here any second.”

Above the ringing in his ears Paul could make out
sirens in the distance. He reached Kelly, put his hands on her pale cheeks. Don moaned behind him. “Keep an eye on that son of a bitch!”

“With pleasure.” Ed raised his shotgun and stood over Don.

Paul ripped open Kelly’s shirt. Put his hand over the exit wound the size of a golf ball above her breast. “Oh, God.” He fought back the tears, blurring his vision.

“No, no, no.” Not again. He couldn’t lose another person he’d cared about. Not like this,
not from a gunshot, not again. Trying to stop the bleeding, waiting for the casevac chopper, fumbling with the bandages from his IFAK. He couldn’t do it again.

Paul frantically searched for a pulse with his blood
y fingers. “Don’t give up on me, you hear me Kelly? Fight, damn it! I love you, don’t give up!”

The kitchen fill
ed with strobes of red and blue. Sirens came to a stop. Deputy crouched next to him, a paramedic followed. Squawking radio in his ear. Hands on his back, another on his arm, pulled him away. He struggled to stay next to her. They pulled him away. Dragged him away.