Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (4 page)

She nodded no. “Gra . . . addy. . . Gotta help my . . .” She coughed again.

“I don’t understand,” Troy said, frustrated. Then, as the woman pointed to her stomach, it occurred to him that she was carrying a child. “Wait Adam. She’s pregnant! That’s what she’s saying. She’s saying baby. Not Grady.”

Adam’s jaw became unhinged. “No way. This is totally messed up. What are we supposed to do?”

“Since she can’t walk, we have to call an ambulance. Do you have your cell phone with you?”

“I should.” Frantically, Adam patted his coat pocket. “No. Damn it! I don’t. I left it at the store. It must be in my other jacket.”

Troy sighed. That was definitely not what he wanted to hear, particularly since he did not have a mobile phone either. He had been meaning to buy one, but hadn‘t gotten around to it yet.

“Okay. Go back and call 911. And leave the flashlight here. I‘ll stay with her. ”

“Gottcha.” As though he were being chased by the devil, Adam sprinted at top velocity back to the shopping center.

Meanwhile, in the pine forest, Craig suddenly threw his hands up into the air and then angrily whispered, “Shit! I don‘t believe this, my bracelet!”

“What are you babbling about?” Buck asked without turning around.

Ashley’s attackers were hiking through a dark tangle of bushes, thorns, and branches. Underneath their boots, leaves, twigs, and pinecones were trampled, creating a sound akin to stepping on peanut shells. Eventually, the narrow path would wind around and lead them back to the shopping mall, where they had their old Ford Pickup truck parked. The dilapidated truck, which had a red wheel barrel in it, was in front of Radio Shack near a handicapped zone.

“That chick must have torn my silver bracelet off,” Craig elaborated, holding up his wrist and then clicking his lighter. “Probably when she first came to. Remember, when she got all freaked out, and kept grabbing my arms? I know the bracelet is probably on the ground right near her somewhere.”

“Your bracelet?”

“Yes. The one my ex. wife Danielle ordered from QVC in 2000, and gave to me for a Christmas present. The year before the divorce. We have to go back and find it.”

“Mother aye. I don’t believe this. Are you sure, you were even wearing the bracelet? I don’t remember seeing it on your wrist today.”

“Since when do you look at my wrist?”

Annoyed, Buck spit. “I’m just saying, homie, a lot of time when we’re working you take off your bling and leave it in the glove compartment. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I saw you take something off your wrist this afternoon when we were in Easton finishing that one house with the crappy shed in the backyard.”

Craig sighed. “What I took off my wrist and put in the glove compartment was my watch, not my bracelet. I know what I’m talking about. I haven’t killed as many brain cells as you. My memory is still intact. So let‘s go. We can’t waste time. We’re heading back.”

“Dawg, are you crazy? Forget about it.”

Infuriated, the leader whipped a pinecone at a rotting tree trunk. He had become so enraged he started to hyperventilate. “Stump, don’t you get it, the bracelet has my name inscribed on it. If the cops find it, which they probably will if we don’t go back and get it, we’re freaking screwed. That’s one thing that can definitely be traced to us. So come on! Unless you feel like spending more time in jail.”

Sighing, Buck peered through the trees toward the field. So far, the police had yet to show up.

“Okay. But what about those people from the grocery store? It looks like they‘re with her now. The flashlight stopped moving. Whoever they are, they probably already took the duct tape off her mouth and hands, and I’m sure the chick told them which way we ran . . . What are we supposed to do about them? It‘s not like we can walk up on those people and act like concerned citizens. Once that chick hears our voices she‘ll know that we‘re the ones who jumped her.”

“Well,” said Craig, fishing, from his pant’s pocket, a pair of brass knuckles. “We might have a situation on our hands. So you be a smart S.O.B. and arm yourself with a weapon.”

“What kind of weapon?”

“Preferably a thick tree branch. One that won’t break on contact.” While grinning, the man in charge slammed the brass knuckles into his palm. “Yeah. In order to find that bracelet, Stump, we might have to bash a couple of skulls.”

With his co-worker on the way to call 911, dairy manager Troy Young tried to obtain as much information from the victim as possible.

The woman informed him that she‘d been raped (although he had already assumed that) and that she did not know by whom.

She also kept repeating, in a fatigued whisper, that one of her assailants had kicked her in the kidney, which she feared might have killed her unborn child. The emotionally charged statement sent shock waves ricocheting through Troy’s mind. He was aghast. He did not understand what could possibly posses people to make them commit such a heinous crime like this.

“My name is Ashley,” the girl proclaimed softly, after, for the third time, Troy had assured her an ambulance would soon arrive. “Ashley Ferguson. I grew up in this town-”

“Hello Ashley,” he uttered respectfully, still holding her head in his hand. “I’m Troy. Troy Young . . . You hang in there now, okay?” He tried not to sound nervous; he did not want her to panic. “Just keep calm. I’ll be here with you the whole time until they get here.”

“Troy,” she gibbered, while caressing his cheek. “Did you know Peter?”

“Who?”

“My husband?” She seemed to be hallucinating.

“Uh, no.” Troy wondered why the victim had referred to her spouse in the past tense. Furthermore, he wanted to ask Ashley Ferguson if she remembered him from his intermittent visits to the pharmacy. However, given the girl’s condition, he decided it best to keep the dialogue simple. Besides, with her eye swelled, and nearly closed, it seemed unlikely that she could distinguish his features anyway. Troy reckoned what she likely saw was a vague flashlight-induced impression.

“If my baby is a boy,” she continued to drivel, lost in a sentimental fantasy, “My husband wanted to name it after him. Peter Ferguson Junior. Wouldn’t that be cute?”

“Yes. Peter is a nice name.”

“If it’s a girl though, I don’t have a name picked out.” Again, she affectionately patted his face. “Do you know a pretty name for a baby girl?”

“Umn. I’m not good at naming babies,” Troy said, hoping she wouldn’t detect that he too had begun to weep. How could he not? Troy had never experienced anything like this. He was having a difficult time keeping his emotions in check.

Brutal crimes of this nature did not occur around here, at least there had not been anyone raped in recent history that Troy could recall. The only violent crimes that took place in Wichita were the occasional barroom brawl.

“What’s your wife’s name?”

“I don’t have a wife. I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend either.”

Attempting to smile, the shaky female gazed intently into Troy’s eyes.

“How does such a sweet man like you not have someone to love?”

“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t met the right person.”

“You will,” she whispered confidently. “I never thought I would either until Peter came along.” It appeared, in her delirium, she could not help but reminisce.

“And where is your husband now?”

“He died. He fell off a scaffold.”

“Whoa! I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Peter was a window washer struggling to make a living. And I cared about him so much. Then he had to go away. Just like my baby might have to go away.”

The poignant statement tugged at Troy‘s heart.

“Your baby’s not going anywhere,” he promised, now finally laying the girls’s head back down. His hand had gotten tired holding it up. “I told you, my co-worker went to call for help. Everything will be fine. I give you my word.”

“What’s your mother’s name?” she asked, becoming more irrational.

“Come again?”

“Your mom, what‘s her name?”

“Kim . . . My mother’s name is Kim.”

“Then if my baby survives and it turns out to be a girl, her name will be Kimberly Ferguson.”

“No. You don’t have to name your kid after my mom.”

“But I would want to,” she assured him. “So would my husband. Because if our child survives it’ll be because of you and your friend.”

“How does this stick look?” Buck asked, handing it to his partner. The tree branch he had found, in a heap of leaves and pine needles resembled a Louisville slugger.

“It looks like it might do the trick,” Craig said, pleased. “First, let’s see if it passes the test.” The leader swung the branch explosively hard against a fallen log. WHACK! The thick stick did not break or crack. “Yeah. This should work . . . Okay, Stump. Listen up. Here’s the deal. Once we get out of the woods, we’ll sneak up on them as quietly as possible. And when I mean quiet I don’t even want to hear you breathe.”

Buck nodded. Scurrying nearby through the autumn brush an opossum regarded Ashley’s attackers with both fear and awe. The only other animals that might be in the woods this time of year were squirrels, raccoons, the occasional deer and some black bears that had yet to go into hibernation.

“And we’re gonna need their flashlight. It won’t be easy locating the bracelet. Also, regardless of what happens, have your weapon ready.”

“No problemo.”

Like nocturnal hunters stalking prey, they proceeded to little by little exit the camouflage tree cover. In the distance, the mysterious smoke in the sky still spread closer and closer to the shopping mall.

***

“And you said you’re three and a half months pregnant?” Troy asked, illuminating, with the flashlight, Ashley Ferguson’s belly.

“Yes,” she responded woozily, as her warm breath turned into frost. “Give or take a day. They say a woman’s pregnancy should start to show by now, though everyone is different. Some show when they are three or four months along, others after five months. I realize I don’t show much. The men who did this to me thought I was lying. I told them I was pregnant and they laughed.”

“That’s disgusting. Is your stomach hurting you now?”

“A little. And I don’t know why, but I keep wondering if maybe my baby’s umbilical chord has snapped. Do you think that’s possible?”

What a complicated question? How was Troy supposed to know the answer to that? He was no doctor.

“I don’t think so,” he attempted to downplay the inquiry. “Here. Take my jacket.” He worried she might catch cold.

“Why do you think those people did this to me?”

He shook his head despondently. “I have no idea. It doesn‘t make any sense. There are a lot of things that happen in life that don‘t have a logical explanation.” The nearest hospital was three miles away. Up to this point, Troy had yet to hear a siren. Although he had become rather impatient, like his nervousness, he tried not to let that fact be known.

“They also stole money from me,” the rape victim added. “Every bill I had in my purse.”

Troy saw Ashley’s pocketbook on the ground. An ugly film of mud covered it, an obvious tip-off that the pink bag had either been stomped on or indiscriminately thrown. A hunk of Kleenex also protruded from the unzipped purse.

“Do you know which way these guys ran off too?”

“Yes. When they saw your flashlight, they raced toward the forest. The light scared them.”

***

“Well, well,” Craig whispered into Buck’s ear. “It looks like there’s only one of them now. Our other milk boy must have gone to call an ambulance.”

“As well as the cops. Let’s not forget that. So we’d better find that bracelet fast.”

“Keep your fingers crossed.”

The felons scarcely made a peep as they gradually approached the flashlight.

“Let’s start sneaking up on them from this way,” the bearded man conducting the operation advised. “I don’t want to step directly into the light and give whoever that guy from the market is a chance to stand up. If he becomes suspicious, I don‘t want to have to chase him. The last thing we want to do is start running toward the plaza. We need to keep this guy close to the woods.”

“Dawg, I’m right behind you.”

“And Stump, give me that tree branch. You take the brass knuckles.”

“Why?”

“Because. I’ve come up with a new plan.”

“What‘s that?”

“You’ll see. Just follow my lead.”

***

Now, from his coat pocket, Troy withdrew the 20-ounce bottle of Poland Spring that he’d had in there since lunchtime, and gave Ashley a few dainty sips. Most of the water dribbled down her chin.

“Do you want to try that again?”

“Nah. I think that‘s enough,” she answered, drying her lips with a wobbly hand. “Thank you.”

A moment ago, she had asked, yet again, when he thought first aid might get there. Due to the acute turmoil associated with this predicament, Troy assumed that Ashley Ferguson had lost all sense of time. He imagined a minute to her, likely felt more like an hour.

“Is that your friend now?” she whispered.

“My friend, what you see Adam?” Instinctively, Troy turned toward the shopping center.

“Not that way,” Ashley said, trying to point. “Behind you.”

“Behind me? But Adam wouldn’t be coming from-”

Ashley couldn’t believe it. Her attackers had returned. But why?

“It’s the bottom of the ninth,” she heard the guy with the beard declare. “The Mets and the Braves are knotted 4 to 4. Guess what though, Britney? My boy Piazza just clocked one into cheap seats. The Mets win!”

Before there was time to react, Ashley watched in horror as the deranged leader walloped Troy Young over the head, with a club-shaped object. The thump of wood hitting skull sounded eerily similar to a ball striking a bat. Instantly the grocery store worker toppled to the grass. Stunned, Ashley was certain that Troy Young had either been knocked out or killed!