Skin Dancer (35 page)

“Hello, Mother,” Frankie said.

Polly looked at her. “Frances, so you've come at last.”

“All along, you knew.” Frankie felt strangely detached. “I've gone to a lot of trouble to get that information, and you knew it all along.”

“Yes,” Polly said. “I knew. Not at first, but eventually.”

Frankie shook her head. “I should have done this a long time ago, Mother. You betrayed Daddy and you let the man who killed him and destroyed me get away with all of it.”

“I made the best choice I could make, Frances. For you.” Polly took a breath. “Make it quick. That's all I ask.”

Frankie pulled the pillow from behind her mother. “I'll give you that.” She pressed the pillow over her mother's face, pushing her back into the bed. When she was certain Polly was dead, she left the room. She had to head Rachel off before she alerted anyone.

 

Richard balanced himself on his bad foot. John Henry didn't want to dig in and fight, but Richard knew it was his only option. He couldn't run. Hell, he could barely hobble. He wasn't a medical doctor, but he had to wonder if they'd have to amputate his foot if he lived long enough to get to a hospital for help.

Something moved again deep in the trees, and he stopped, standing as tall as he could. It didn't matter that he was in his underwear and another man's shirt. The events of the past twenty–four hours had reduced him to sheer survival impulse.

“Whoever's there, come on!” he shouted.

“Have you lost your friggin' mind?” John Henry whirled around, snatched his arm, and started to drag him. “Let's get the fuck out of Dodge.”

The brief image of a man—or a large hairy creature walking upright–slipped among the trees.

“It's not her.” Richard pointed to the woods. Someone moved through the trunks so quickly that Richard couldn't be certain who it was, but it wasn't Frankie. This figure was taller, thicker.

“What the fuck?” John Henry saw it, too. “It ain't no bear, but it's covered in fur!”

“Hey!” Richard raised his voice. “Hey, you! Help us!”

“Stop it!” John Henry hissed in his ear. “Let's just keep going. Don't bring it over here.”

Richard shook him off. “Help!” He hollered again.

The creature stopped, more phantom than real in the dimness of the woods. A chill passed down Richard's spine, but he brushed it away. Nothing could be scarier than Frankie Jackson.

“Whoever you are, we need help!” Richard felt giddy. There was a chance, a slim chance that he might make it. He could get back to town, check on Justine, make sure she was going to be okay. He stumbled toward the dim figure. “Help us! Please!”

John Henry tugged the back of his shirt. “Let's go.” There was fear in his voice. “I don't know what that is, but I don't like the looks of it.”

“You can't see anything,” Richard said. “Whoever it is, he may have a four–wheeler.”

“I don't think so.” John Henry backed up. “That don't look like nobody with a four–wheeler. That don't look like no
body
at all. I been livin' out here for months now, and I've seen some things. Scary things. In the woods at night. Folks think that Skin Dancer is a legend, but maybe it ain't.”

Richard could smell the fear on John Henry. The man was terrified. “What have you seen?”

“I've heard children cryin' and the sound of buffalo stampedin'.” He held up a hand. “I know there are buffalo, but the closest herd is down on Pine Ridge Reservation. That's a'ways. I heard ‘em, though, runnin' like the devil was on their tail. And I heard an Indian cryin' out like a huntin' call, but when I looked out, there was nothin' there. Not even a tree branch swayin' in the breeze.”

“You've spooked yourself. That person may be our ticket back to civilization.”

John Henry clutched Richard's arm. “These hills are a special place. If you forget that, you'll pay a price. This is sacred land for the Sioux. It has powers that you don't know about or can't begin to understand. I'm tellin' you, man, you need to respect this. Don't be messin' with something you don't understand. Now let's start walkin'.”         

Richard saw it again. The creature moved through the trees too fast. It seemed to glide, more shadow than substance. “Who is that?”

“More like ‘what is that?'” John Henry said. “Let's go!”

Richard let John pull him back to the path. He tried to keep his gaze on the distant figure, but it was hard to do while he hobbled. The pain seemed to blind him at times. When he chanced a look, the shape seemed to stay parallel with them, using the thick wilderness as a screen.

“We need—”

“We need to keep movin'.” John Henry put Richard's arm around his shoulders, supporting him.

“Frankie killed those men. There's no such thing as the Skin Dancer.” Richard said it aloud, but his voice lacked conviction, even to himself.

John Henry kept walking, forcing Richard to go along. “You think what you want, but I know what I know.”

In the silence, Richard heard a sound that pierced him to his soul. The whisper of a bone rattle carried on the breeze. “Is that—”

“I been hearin' that, and the other things I mentioned. I know what it is. And I know who uses such things. Not any of the flesh and blood Sioux. That's somethin' from way in the past. Somethin' that don't bode good for any of us. Now keep walkin'.”

Richard focused on the path, trying to block out the sound of the rattle that seemed to come from all directions. He'd heard that noise just before he and Justine were attacked. Though it was a Sioux ritual tool, anyone could get his hands on one. It wasn't supernatural. It was all too real, and he had to keep moving.

Each step was a victory. If he had to walk all the way to Bisonville, he would do it. He wasn't going to quit.

The noise stopped. He and John Henry both paused, looking through the trees where they'd last seen the phantom. There was nothing, only the call of a songbird hidden somewhere in the woods.

# # #

Rachel stood in the sunshine outside the nursing home. It was impossible, but her cell phone was dead. She'd forgotten to charge it. She slammed it shut and stuffed it in her pocket. She had no choice but to go back inside and ask to use a phone. She didn't have time to drive back to Bisonville or dawdle. Gordon had to know that Frankie was the killer and that she had Jake as a hostage as well as Richard Jones.

The back door was still blocked open by the small stone. As she went down the hall, she stopped at Polly's room. “Mrs. Jackson, you might need to talk to Gordon—”

Polly's left arm hung off the bed. Her eyes were open but glazed. A pillow rested on her chest. Rachel knew at a glance that she was dead. And she knew who'd done it. Frankie had followed her.

And in all likelihood, Frankie was now headed to wherever she was holding Jake with the intention of killing him.

Rachel spun on her heel and rushed down the hallway. She had to alert the Custer County Sheriff's Department and get in touch with Gordon. They had to apprehend Frankie before she got to Jake.

She saw the door of a patient's room fly open and the lithe body hurtling at her. Before she could react fully, she and her assailant slammed through a door into a restroom.

The restroom door slammed into the wall. Frankie scrambled to regain her balance and raised her right foot for a kick that caught Rachel in the jaw. Her head snapped back and the cell phone flew from her hand, shattering on the floor.

Frankie lodged another kick at her head, but Rachel managed to duck and roll. She came up fast, grabbing for Frankie's ankle while it was still in the air. She almost got it, but Frankie twisted. She was fast, fluid, and deadly accurate with her kicks.

The two women circled each other in the small space of the bathroom. The door started to open and Frankie slammed it hard with a kick. She turned the lock.

Outside, someone hammered on the wood. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

Rachel had no time to respond. She rushed Frankie, hoping for that split second of inattention that would give her the advantage. Frankie countered with an elbow in the back of her neck.

Rachel hit the ground hard. She felt the shock in her jaw and the cracking of a tooth. Before she could get up, Frankie was on her, kneeling on her back, pressing her into the cold, gritty tile.

“I don't want to kill you here, but I will.”

“You have to stop.” Rachel puffed the words, unable to get enough air to talk.

“I don't have to do anything. But you do. You're going to clean yourself up and walk out of here with me.”

Rachel's lungs were on fire. She felt as if her head might explode from the pressure.

“Once Harvey is dead, I'll decide about Richard and Jake. If you cooperate, I'll consider letting them live.”

Rachel managed to nod.

Frankie eased the pressure on her back, and Rachel dragged in oxygen. The pounding in her head lessened, then stopped.

“If you do a single thing to call attention to us, I'll kill whoever sees.” Frankie pulled her to her feet. She lifted her shirt to show the gun. “I'll use it. You know I will.”

Rachel didn't say anything. She found the piece of her tooth with her tongue and spit it into the trash can.

“You did me a service, Rachel. You got my mother to say where my father is buried. Now I know. Now I can prove he didn't leave us.”

Rachel watched her in the mirror. She was beautiful, a woman graced with physical perfection. Except for her blue eyes. They were clear and the color of an October sky, but there was a glassiness that reminded Rachel of a porcelain doll. How was it possible that she hadn't seen—that no one had seen–the vacantness before now?

“You have what you need, Frankie. You don't have to kill anyone else. You didn't have to kill your mother.”

Frankie's smile was angelic. “Oh, I don't kill because I have to. I kill because I like it.” She dug her fingers into Rachel's arm. “Now walk out with me and don't do anything stupid. We'll be home before you know it.”

# # #

The grit from a passing truck stung Derek's face as he raced the four–wheeler along the roadway. He was headed for Dixon Point. He'd found nothing in Richard Jones's house. Nothing. And no matter how much he'd talked to Justine, she hadn't acknowledged him. The doctor said she was resting comfortably and that it was up to her. If she wanted to wake up, she would. It was more than Derek could bear. He'd already contacted the other members of WAR. Most had dispersed, abandoning the South Dakota area, in search of new causes.

But he wasn't giving up.

He opened the throttle on the ATV and roared along the road until he found the path that led up to Dixon's Point. He turned off onto it. There had to be something he could do other than sit around and wait. Like the deputy had said, the killer kept going back to this one place. Maybe he could find something that would save the day.

As he took a sharp curve, he saw the figure of a man moving swiftly through the trees. Derek braked and turned, sending the machine into a dangerous slide. He recovered and went back. Disappearing deeper into the woods was the Indian.

Derek remembered the day he'd pursued Adam and had been set up to play the fool who found the mannequin.

“Hey!” He throttled up and gave chase. The Indian was fast, but he was no match for the ATV. Derek caught up with him. “Hey, you!”

Adam Standing Bear faced Derek. “What do you want?”

“I'm looking for Richard Jones. Have you seen him?”

Adam appeared to consider the question. “Why do you ask?”

“My girlfriend was attacked last night. She was with Richard. Seems like someone kidnapped him.”

“As you can see, I don't have him.” Adam started to turn away.

“Did you set up that mannequin?” Derek swallowed, his throat dry. His question halted Adam. The Indian studied him, reading whatever he could from Derek's expression before he answered.

Adam nodded. “I did.”

“Why did you do that?”

“To frighten you. Your bragging was causing trouble.”

Derek wanted to smack him. He stood and swung his leg over the ATV. “You're a bastard.”

“This land belongs to the Sioux.” Adam held his ground. “We have only a few weapons, and superstition is one of them. I used you.”

“Why couldn't you ask me to help? I tried to talk to you.”

Adam stepped forward. “You never asked to help, Derek Baxter. You had your plan, and there was no stopping you. You burned the machines. It was highly probable that my people would be blamed for that. I had to stop you the only way I knew how.”

“Which was to discredit me?”

“That or frighten you away. It didn't matter how you left, as long as you left. The Lakota people hope to stop the four–lane, but not by destroying property or lives. We have cases in the court system, and with time, we'll have the legal standing to protect the land we love. Until then, superstition is the tool I use. Fear of the Skin Dancer will slow the destruction.”

Derek felt the loss of his anger like the bleeding of a wound. “Do you know where Richard Jones might be?”

Adam nodded slowly. “I do. He's headed toward Dixon Point. I think he'd greatly appreciate a ride. But don't tell him you saw me in the woods. If you want to save the wilderness, let that be our secret.”

The hint of a smile hovered at the corner of Adam's mouth. Derek felt his own lips twist up. Adam intended to stop the four–lane—and he could help.

“You got it.” He climbed back on the ATV and gunned it up the steep trail toward Dixon Point.       

# # #

Rachel led the way out of the restroom. Frankie kept the gun pressed into her ribs as she followed closely behind.