Last Light

  Shadows flickered around the room, like demons wanting to play. Doug couldn’t wait to get out of this place.

  “My brothers know where he went,” Mark said. “Larry and Jack are tighter with him than I am. They work in the family business.”

  “Did you know your father dealt in pornography?”

  Mark studied his feet for a moment. “I knew something wasn’t right. I’d found some of his magazines before . . . And I knew he had picked up a lot more web-based business in the last few years. He kept all this from me, probably because he knows I’m a Christian and would have been disgusted.”

  Doug watched Mark’s face, wondering if the kid was for real. Maybe it was just a cleverly hatched story that he and his father had prepared in advance. Vic had no qualms about feigning Christianity when it suited his purposes. How could they be sure Mark wasn’t the same way? Doug’s blood boiled as he thought of Vic sitting in his living room this morning, singing hymns and praying like he meant it.

  Mark seemed to read Doug’s thoughts. The boy looked up at him, his face twisted with despair. “Mr. Branning, I should have suspected his intentions when I brought him to church this morning. I thought the Holy Spirit was moving him. I thought he was finally coming around.”

  “I told you he wasn’t.” Martha blew her nose on a handkerchief. “That man is evil. Pure evil. And so are his other sons.”

  Doug couldn’t sit down; he stepped into the light of the lamp and fixed Sheriff Scarbrough with a look. “You need to get over there and interview those boys. Every minute that passes puts my daughter in greater danger.”

  The sheriff got to his feet. “I agree with you. Give me their addresses, Mark, and we’ll head over.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you there myself. I want to hear what they have to say.”

  “Mark, no.” Martha grabbed her son’s arm. “I want you to stay home.”

  Mark spun around. “Mom, Deni is in trouble. There’s no time to waste. I don’t want to upset you, but this is something I have to do. They’re my brothers. He’s my father. And Deni’s my friend.”

  If Mark was faking his concern, he was giving an Oscar-caliber performance. “I’m going, too,” Doug said. “I can’t go after my daughter until I know where they went.”

  Sheriff Scarbrough acquiesced. “All right, you can both come. But don’t interfere. You let us do the talking. No heroics, no vengeance. We do this according to the law, which still applies, outage or not. No grandstanding. We go smart, so Green won’t walk free on a technicality. Got that?”

  Doug agreed. “Got it.”

  They mounted their bicycles, and Mark took the lead.

  The two brothers lived a few miles away, both on the same street. Doug and the others found them both at Larry’s house, sitting out back, smoking cigars and drinking beer. Doug wondered if the beer had come from the Abernathys or the Whitsons.

  The sons bore a striking resemblance to their father, especially in their demeanor. They exuded arrogance as the police identified themselves and asked where their father was.

  Larry took a long drag of his cigar, then took his time blowing the smoke out. “Don’t have a clue. Why are you looking for him?”

  Sheriff Scarbrough was playing it nonchalant. “We have reason to believe he left town with this man’s daughter. We need to find her.”

  Larry and Jack exchanged looks and burst out laughing. Jack looked up at Doug. “Who’s your daughter?”

  Doug wanted to smash those grins off of their faces. “Deni Branning.”

  “Oh, her.” Larry seemed genuinely delighted. “So she went with him, after all, did she? I didn’t think she’d give him the time of day.”

  “Guess we don’t give the old man enough credit.” Jack high-fived his brother, and the two spat out more laughter.

  The eruption hit, and Doug snapped. He lunged forward, intent on knocking that beer bottle out of Jack’s hand and smashing the cigar down Larry’s throat.

  But the deputies grabbed his arms and fought him back.

  “Where did he take her, Larry?” Mark demanded.

  Larry’s eyes glowed with mirth. “How would I know?”

  “You know where his perverted stores are.”

  Larry’s grin faded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Sheriff Scarbrough held up a hand to stem Mark’s questions. “Tell us how involved you are with your father’s business.”

  “Not that involved.” Jack was no longer amused, either. “Our dad is an entrepreneur, with his hand in a lot of pies. He’s got several business ventures going on. We only handle the computer part of it.”

  “Yeah,” Larry added. “We handle the online bookstore. Kind of like Amazon.”

  “Only with filthy products?” Mark’s voice was raspy. “You make me sick.”

  Larry stubbed out his cigar. “Why don’t you shut up, you little jerk? You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just mad because we cut you out!”

  Doug had had enough. Time was ticking on his daughter’s life. “Tell us where they went, or so help me, I’ll kill you both!”

  The sheriff’s eyes flashed. “Take him out of here!”

  Doug fought the deputies. “Search their houses! Go through the files! Just tell me what towns the stores are in! I have to go after her!”

  “Doug, I warned you not to interfere!” Sheriff Scarbrough’s finger wagged in his face. “I told you to keep your mouth shut! Now, I don’t want to arrest you—”

  “Arrest me?” Doug couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “They’re the murderers! They’re the ones who helped clean out the Abernathys’ and Whitsons’ houses!”

  Larry sprang up. “Murder? Now, wait a minute.”

  The deputies wrestled Doug to the gate. He tried to break free before they could get him through it.

  “Dad killed my next-door neighbors!” Mark shouted. “He broke into their house and murdered them for diamonds! They had children, grandchildren. They were decent people who didn’t deserve that!”

  “That’s enough!” Sheriff Scarbrough took his handcuffs off his belt and clamped them around Mark’s wrists. “Take him out, too,” he said through his teeth.

  Another set of cuffs clamped Doug’s wrists, but he didn’t give up. “Where is he? Where did he take her?” he yelled.

  “Wherever she wanted to go!” Larry screamed back at him. “Little tramp’s been itching to run off with him!”

  Doug could have murdered him with his bare hands, had they been free.

  “I’m gonna find your sleazy father, and when I do, if he’s hurt my daughter, I’ll kill him!” he shouted. “I’ll tear him apart, limb from limb. And then I’ll come back and do the same to you!”

  The deputies wrestled him through the gate. “What is wrong with you?” one of them asked when they got him into the front yard. “This is a homicide investigation, and you’re undermining all our efforts to get at the truth! I should lock you up.”

  “Oh, right!” Doug bit the words out. “Arrest me, when the whole town’s swarming with criminals and lowlifes. Don’t do anything about the killers and thieves, but make sure I’m behind bars!”

  “We ain’t lockin’ you up, Doug, but you’re not helpin’ matters. We have a mess on our hands.”

  “It’ll be less of a mess if you lock up those two and then go after their father.”

  “We can’t lock them up. We don’t have any evidence against them, and we can’t go after Vic Green because we don’t have the resources.”

  Anger shivered through him. “So he could just take my daughter against her will, rape and murder her, and leave her for dead—and nobody cares?”

  “You care!” the deputy said. “You go after them. But we have to stay here. We have a community we have to protect.”

  “Well, you’re not protecting it!” Doug shouted. “Evil is running rampant around here and you’re sitting on your hands. My daughter could be dead by now—” The w
ords rang through him, and he blinked back the tears in his eyes. This was useless. He was wasting precious time arguing with them.

  “Go home, Doug.” The deputy unlocked his handcuffs.

  Doug jerked his bike up, threw his leg over it. “I’m going, but so help me, if you don’t arrest those two, somebody else is going to wind up dead. Next time it might be your wife and children!”

  fifty

  Doug rode home, the wind of his anger making him fly. He packed the provisions he would need to go after Deni, and Kay helped him get it all into a backpack he could carry on his bike.

  “Jeff, it’s going to be up to you to defend the family,” he said as he checked his rifle. “The Green boys are still running free, and two of them have an axe to grind with me.”

  “I can defend us, Dad. You can count on me. I won’t sleep at night.”

  “What about the daytime?”

  Kay wiped the tears off of her face. “He and I will take turns. I can carry a gun as well as anybody. Besides, maybe it won’t take that long. Maybe you’ll find her right away.”

  Doug thought of his daughter, raped and beaten, murdered on the side of the road. He rode the bike on pure adrenalin, zigging and zagging through the stalled cars on the road, shining his flashlight in front of him, searching for the wagon.

  Fortunately, his bike would go faster than a wagon ever could. He’d overtake them soon.

  He prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

  fifty-one

  Deni slept off and on all night, curled up on the backseat of that van, alternately resting and then waking, scared to death of the sounds of whispering leaves and croaking frogs.

  Self-loathing pulsed through her. What had she done?

  She pictured her mother pacing the floor, crying as though Deni was already dead and buried. Her father was probably out looking for her. Would it even occur to him to try this road instead of the interstate?

  She thought of her little sister and brothers. What an example she had been for them. Jeff was probably full of I-told-you-so’s about Deni’s lack of character. Logan probably enjoyed the drama. Beth was probably crying her eyes out and eating herself up with worry. Hadn’t she been traumatized enough?

  She wondered what Craig would think when he found out she had put her life into the hands of an alcoholic stranger. He would consider her childish, stupid. Would he reconsider her suitability as his wife? No one with political aspirations wanted a loose cannon in his life. He needed someone stable, strong, smart . . .

  But it couldn’t be undone now. She was here. She’d gotten herself into this mess. Somehow she had to find a way out.

  The sky cracked and lightning flashed, and she felt as if God stood in His heaven, arms crossed in judgment for her miserable choices. As the rain began to beat down on the ceiling of the van, she felt even more alone.

  She sat up on the bench seat. Wrapping the plastic-covered dress around her, she tried to get warm. She stared out the rain-splattered window, catching glimpses of the road and woods with each flash of light, watching to make sure no more evil approached. The stalled cars reminded her of dread spirits with no homes. The dripping pines and mimosas were places for killers to hide.

  And then there was Vic, camping out in the rain, no doubt trying to get his horses to shelter and find a dry place to sleep.

  Unless he was passed out drunk.

  She tried to make a plan for tomorrow. Should she try to make it to I-20 and head back home? Or should she keep going east? Maybe she could stop off in the next town, find work somehow, and earn enough to buy a bike or horse.

  But if these towns were like Crockett or Birmingham, no stores were open and no one would be interested in selling her their transportation. Even her own parents had fought over letting go of some of their bikes.

  Maybe she’d have to steal one.

  The thought slipped into her mind, then quickly fled. But before she could banish it for good, it crept back.

  What was wrong with a desperate person stealing out of necessity? She could target a family with several bikes. They could get by with one fewer. It was practically a victimless crime.

  But it was still a crime.

  No, as low as she’d sunk, she hadn’t sunk low enough to steal. She still had her integrity. Vic Green wasn’t going to drive her to crime.

  Fatigue finally pulled her under, and she drifted into a shallow sleep, plagued by dreams of running and running, yet never reaching her destination. Then she dreamed she was strapped into a first-class seat in an airliner, sipping on orange juice when the plane plunged, crashed, and tumbled across the tarmac. Fire erupted around her, an inferno from hell.

  The sound of her own screams woke her.

  She sat up in the van, relieved that sunlight had broken. Morning had finally come.

  The rain had stopped, and puddles glistened on the long stretch of road before her.

  Her stomach rumbled, and her mouth was parched. Would she be able to find her way back to the brook without running into Vic?

  If she’d just waited, maybe the lights would have come back on in a few days and she could have taken normal, civilized means of travel to get to Craig.

  Already, it was at least eighty degrees, and the humidity had to be 100 percent. Yesterday she’d had the benefit of the tarp over the wagon to keep the sun from blistering her. Today she had nothing. She hadn’t thought to bring sunscreen, or a hat to keep from being scorched.

  She just hadn’t thought.

  She got out of the van, pulling her dress and suitcase with her. The thought of walking to the next town seemed absurd. No, she would go to I-20, and then maybe she could make up her mind whether to go east or west.

  As she walked, tears stung her dirty face and the shoes on her feet rubbed blisters. And then she heard it.

  Horses’ hooves . . .

  “Deni! Hey, Deni!” Vic’s voice carried on the breeze.

  Her heart stopped, and she thought of running. But where would she go? There was nothing but woods on either side of the highway, and she couldn’t pull her suitcase through.

  Besides, Vic didn’t sound angry. Maybe he’d slept off his drunkenness.

  She stopped and waited, her chin thrust up defiantly, and her teeth ground together.

  He laughed at her as he came closer. “You sure you want to do this on your own?”

  She couldn’t even answer.

  “Look, I was drunk last night. I’m paying for it this morning. No reason you should have to pay for it, too.”

  She looked up at the wagon, hating it—but she hated it less than the long stretch of road, especially if she had to take it one step at a time. He had been drinking too much last night. Besides, what were her options?

  “Come on, get in,” he said. “I’ve got some water and a granola bar for you. Next time you march off in a huff, you might want to take some food with you.”

  Her anger withered. She was dying for food and a drink of water. She stood there a moment, staring up at him, wishing she had the strength to march right past him. But she didn’t. Her face twisted, and she started to cry like a little girl. “I guess I have no other choice.”

  “Oh, you have a choice. I’m not gonna force you into this wagon.”

  She hated herself. She was such an idiot.

  But she needed to eat and drink, so she stepped toward the wagon and handed him her wedding dress. He threw it in the back, then reached for her suitcase.

  “Now get on up. We can make good time today.”

  Hope blossomed in her heart.

  She stepped up into the wagon, sank into her captain’s chair. She hated the smell of it, the smell of the horses, the smell of him, the smell of herself . . . but she had no choice but to go on.

  He handed her a bottle of water and the granola bar.

  “Thank you,” she forced herself to say.

  “No problem.” He tapped the reins.

  And they were on their way again.

  fifty-two r />
  Exhaustion played a close second to the frustration Doug felt as he pedaled down I-20, stopping at every exit to ask if anyone had seen the bizarre wagon. So far, no one had. And something else disturbed him.

  There were no horse droppings in his path.

  If Deni and Vic had come this way, wouldn’t he see an occasional pile on the road? With four horses, there would have to be some.