The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (9 page)

Rayanne
screamed and recognized the driver as the van barreled toward them. It was
Dru’s face behind the wheel. Dru was driving the black van. Their eyes
connected.

Rayanne
twisted the wheel. The truck and trailer spun wildly to the right, swerving out
of the way of the passing van and into a rush of branches. They violently
struck the windshield, scratching at the side doors as she barged through them.
Then something hard hit the right tire.

The
truck bounced. It swung wildly and hit something else. A tree, maybe? She heard
the trailer break away from the truck, its hitch striking the tailgate with a
forcible jolt. Rayanne’s foot slammed the brake. The Chevy skidded and
fishtailed, smashing through tree limbs and against tree trunks. Bark and
leaves sprayed the windshield. Rayanne hung onto the steering wheel, no longer
in control, as the truck tore through a wall of thick bushes. She heard foliage
rip the undercarriage. Rayanne wrenched the steering wheel to the left. The
truck arched into empty air as the ground dropped out from below them.

Owen’s
unconscious body was slipping off the seat beside her. It was the last thing
Rayanne saw as she braced for the collision.

14

Rayanne
was unconscious, her eyes fluttering. She dreamt of Connor.

She
could hear his sobs as she sat against a cold block wall. She couldn’t see him.
Yet his cries carried into the small room as if he was just out of sight. She
wanted to reach for him, cradle him in her arms and soothe his tears, but she
couldn’t move. Her arms were wrapped tight around her core. She was locked in a
straightjacket. She was in the hospital again. It was a mistake. She was better
now. She was perspiring. Sweat ran down her forehead, dripped from the tip of
her nose.

Frustrated,
she struggled to free her arms. Fought against the restraints. Connor needed
her. His cries grew louder. She had to get to him. Rayanne fought to free
herself—then stopped. She looked up. In the narrow window above her, a white
dove was tapping on the glass. The bird hit it again. Then again. It smashed
its head against the windowpane.

Rayanne
opened her eyes and realized she was okay. Her face was pressed tight to the
hot airbag. Smoke drifted up from the steering wheel. The windshield had
splintered into a thousand cracks, but it held. She could tell the truck had
fallen into something and that the cab was facing the ground. It shifted her
center of gravity and made her feel as if she were trapped in a roller coaster
that had stopped suddenly on the downward slope.

She
looked over at Owen. He lay in the passenger seat, beneath the smoky, white
airbag. She touched his face.

He
opened his eyes. “Babe?” His voice cracked dryly.

Rayanne’s
eyes filled with tears. She didn’t care about her own pain. She reached for him
and placed a hand firmly on his bloody face. “Owen, I was so scared … I thought
I lost you.”

“What
happened?” He could barely speak.

“We’ve
been in an accident.” She looked around the vehicle. The dashboard was crushed.
The steering wheel was cracked. Something had hit it. She reached up and
touched her forehead, felt the warm blood running down her face. Her head had
hit the steering wheel and broke it. She looked at her husband. “Don’t try to
move.”

He
groaned, shut his eyes, and asked, “Where are we?”

Rayanne
turned. She could barely see through the shattered windshield. Her driver’s
side window was only cracked. Outside, she could see weeds, leaves, and the
spidery limbs of dozens of thin oak trees. They were at the bottom of a ditch.

She
tried to move, and felt excruciating pain in her elbows, her wrists, her knees,
her back. She cried out.

“Babe?”
Owen lifted his head.

“I’m
okay. Just sore,” she said, shifting in the seat. She looked at him. “Don’t try
to move, okay?”

He
changed his position anyway, stretching his upper body over the console toward
her. “Babe, I love you.”

“Owen,
you’re hurt. Try not to move.”

He
reached for her, took her hand in his. “You know I love you and I’m sorry for
everything I said. Everything I did.”

For
a moment she thought he must be out of his head. Either way, it was nice to
hear.

“I
love you too, and we’ll get out of this.” She squeezed his hand as tightly as
she could. Her joints ached, but she couldn’t think about that right now.
Gently, she pushed him back, deeper into the passenger seat. Then she twisted
her body across the console to be closer to him. “Help will come. Don’t move
till it does.”

She
lifted his shirt. Dried blood caked in the hair on his belly, but the cut
itself seemed to have clotted, or at least the bleeding had slowed. Next she
leaned him forward slightly against her and examined his back. It was red and
sticky. The entire back of his shirt was blood-soaked. She stretched his collar
to see his bare shoulder. That wound appeared deeper. Fresh blood spewed from
the cut. She leaned him carefully against the seat. He groaned.

“I
think I’m going to pass out.” Owen put his head to the headrest.

“Try
not to move,” she said, looking down the rest of his body. His left pant leg
was shredded, and the wound on his calf muscle was dark red and angry. She
reached down to touch his knee, and he jerked away from her. He groaned again.
She looked at his face. “Can you move your leg?”

“I
hurt all over,” he said quietly, then paused. His left leg shook slightly,
causing him to groan once more. He shut his eyes. “I can move it a little.”

She
noticed his guitar had been thrown from the backseat and was now angled on the
floorboard at his feet. She reached for it, wanted to move it out of the way,
but he stopped her.

“Leave
it,” he said.

“You
plan on playing it?” she asked.

He
grimaced. “It’s okay. Just leave it.”

“All
right,” she said, gingerly angling her body back onto the seat. “Hang on,
okay?”

She
stared at him for several long seconds, studying his bloody stomach and
shoulder. She unbuttoned her shirt and slipped her arms out of the sleeves.
Taking it into her hands, she ripped it into two pieces. Turning to Owen, she
lifted his shirt again and wrapped one piece around his stomach and tightened
it. Owen groaned in pain and she retreated. When he looked calm, she positioned
the other piece of her shirt around his shoulder, mopping up the blood.

“We
need to call for help,” she said, moving his torso in the seat.

Looking
around the cab, she leaned down toward the floorboards, opened the center
console, and then checked the backseat.

Owen
stirred and opened his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Looking
for my purse.” She flipped her upper body over the console, into the backseat,
and stretched her arms. The bent steering wheel dug into her thigh as she
stretched her body. She reached as far as she could, then snapped back into the
front seat with the brown “Fish Naked” T-shirt she’d worn yesterday and a pair
of sandals in her hand. “I can’t find my purse. It’s gone.”

“You
said you hid it back at the boat ramp.”

“My
cell phone was in it.” Rayanne sighed, slipping her arms into the T-shirt and
rolling it down over her head. Once she was in it, she held up the sandals and
struggled to maneuver around the bent steering wheel, toward her feet. She
slipped her left foot into one sandal as she spoke. “The kids … they took it.”

“It
didn’t match your shoes, anyway.” Owen chuckled at that, and she took it as a
good sign.

She
got the other sandal onto her right foot and sat back against the seat. She
looked at Owen.

His
head wobbled on his shoulders and he slurred as he talked. “Your cell wouldn’t
get reception out here.”

She
ignored him and searched the floorboard by his feet. “Where’s Darryl’s phone?
He said he left it in here. Where is it?”

“Don’t
matter. No cell recep—” Owen coughed, unable to finish. He leaned forward,
coughing deeper until he cleared his throat, and leaned back. He looked over at
her. “Where’s the shotgun?”

She
watched him a moment before answering. “It’s in the backseat.”

“You
need to get it.” Owen shifted his torso so that he faced her. He coughed and
turned his head toward the backseat. “No one’s coming for us.”

Rayanne
buried her face in her hands. She wanted to scream and to cry all at once, but
all she could do was breathe. So she took short, shallow breaths.

“I
don’t know what to do,” she mumbled. “Lord, I just don’t know what to do.”

“No
one’s coming,” he said again. “I want you to get the gun and head out for the
county road.”

Rayanne
shook her head. She didn’t want to look at him. “Owen, stop it. Be serious.”

He
coughed again, struggling to speak. “It’s not far.”

She
stared at him a moment, trying to decide if he was lucid or out of his head.
She stated, “I’m not leaving you.”

“It
can’t be more than a coupl’a miles.” He winced in pain. “You gotta flag down a
car or someth’n.”

“No,”
Rayanne insisted. “I can’t leave you. Those teenagers are still out there.
They’ll find you here.”

“Or
they’ll find both of us here,” he said. “We don’t have a choice. Get the gun
out of the backseat.”

Tears
streamed down her face and neck. The wreck. Owen’s condition. The teenagers.
The violence. It was all starting to get to her. “I can’t leave you. Not like
this.”

“Babe,
we don’t have a choice.”

Rayanne
sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. She felt tears mixed
with blood and that seemed to bring a surge of strength up from some deep well
within her. Though she ached with every movement, she swiveled and stretched
into the backseat again. She grasped the shotgun and returned to her seat. She
raised it in her hands for him to see, then thrust it toward him. “If I go, you
have to keep this.”

“No.”
He reached for the gun as if to push it away. The sudden movement hurt him and
the pain showed in his face. “You’ll need it.”

“Owen,
you’re badly injured. If those kids come back … they’re outta control.”

“Don’t
argue with me.” He gripped the gun in his lap. He tried to hand it back to her.
“There’s wild boars out there. Bears.”

She
wouldn’t take it. “I’m more worried about those kids than wild animals right
now.”

He
reached for the guitar handle sticking up along the edge of the seat by his
bloody leg, and said in a deepened voice, “If they come back, I’ll hit them
with this.”

He
grabbed the guitar and moved it ever so slightly, despite the pain.

“Owen,
I’m not joking.” She refused to take the gun from his hands. “I can run. I can
hide, but you can’t. If those kids come this way, and they probably will,
you’ll need to defend yourself.”

Owen
looked at her. He let the guitar fall to his feet, and grasped the shotgun. He
started to say something else, then stopped. He leaned back with a deep exhale.
Rayanne knew he was too weak to argue.

“I’ll
be back before nightfall,” she said, and leaned her shoulder against the door.
She had to force it open, taking all her willpower and strength. It finally
gave a loud, protesting squeak. With the door hanging open, she moved her legs
out from under the steering wheel.

Owen
grabbed her hand before she was fully out of the car. She hesitated and looked
back at him.

“I
love you,” he said. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

She
smiled at him, then leaned over the console toward him, and pressed her lips to
his. When their lips parted, she stayed there a moment, close to him. She could
feel his breath on her face.

“I
love you too,” she whispered. “More than anything in the world.” She pulled
away.

He
still held her hand, and gripped it tighter. “Be careful,” he said. Then he
released her.

Rayanne
climbed out of the Chevy, limping badly.

A
warm gust of air came through the trees, bringing with it the strong stench of
oil and crushed metal. She stared at the mangled Chevy and was surprised that
the damage didn’t look as severe on the outside. The paint was heavily
scratched, and a rear wheel was warped and distended from the wheel well like a
broken foot. She knew the rear axle had snapped. The right side of the truck,
where Owen was sitting, watching her, butted up tight to the slope of the
ditch, and the back passenger door on the driver’s side was crushed inward. The
front windshield was shattered.

The
noise and the smell of the wrecked truck would bring those teens, or other
predators. Dropping her arms to her side, she glanced once into the shadows
between the trees and made her way up the steep slope, leaving prints from her
sandals behind her in the dirt.