Every time he tried to get up, the attacker knocked him back down. Desperate, he began to crawl, something that infuriated the man, who pistol-whipped him across the back of his skull. Joe’s hands flew up to protect his head, and the man said, “By the time I’m through with you, you aren’t gonna be fit for pigs to eat.”
The man stomped on Joe’s arm, and Joe cried out in pain, collapsing on the ground. Vertigo overcame him, and the world became a kaleidoscope of dim images. Though his vision was blurry, he was able to make out the man’s form, a large blot blocking the stars of the night sky, his gun pointed right at Joe. “You are nothin’ but a pansy-ass.” He heard the sharp click of the gun being cocked.
The stabbing pain in Joe’s chest was worse when he breathed, so he inhaled carefully. As his eyes adjusted, Joe noticed movement. Behind the man, someone else had crept into the clearing. Joe watched as something long and thin rose up in the air over the man’s head. Then the man spun around, and Joe saw Kathleen, brandishing the oar like a weapon. The man lurched forward, and as he and Kathleen grappled, the oar tumbled sideways to the ground. Joe heard the rumble of the man’s voice and Kathleen responding, “No, no, no.”
Joe fought to get to his feet, ignoring the ice-pick agony of his rib cage. Kathleen and the man struggled, the man grabbing her hair and making her cry out. “Let go!” she wailed. The sound of her voice keening in pain made him forget about his own. He rushed at the man and slammed his fist into his shoulder, getting an elbow to the chest in return.
In a slow-motion moment, he saw Kathleen and the intruder grapple for the gun and heard the man yell, “But I love you, Kathleen!”
Kathleen cried out, “I don’t love you. I never will!” He had her by one arm, and as she struggled, the gun was between them. There was a spark of light and a loud crack, the sound reverberating off the lake.
The man crumpled to the ground, and Kathleen screamed. In the pale light, Joe saw the blood splattered across the front of her dress and the lifeless form of the man on the ground. He went to Kathleen, and she nearly collapsed in his arms, tears beginning to flow.
“Are you okay?” Joe asked. “Are you hurt?”
She looked up at him, her eyes wet, and shook her head. Just a few feet from where they stood lay the body of the man, arms sprawled and blood pouring from a gaping wound in his chest.
Joe wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body tremble as she clung to him, and said, “It’s okay. You’re safe. Everything’s going to be fine.”
When she could finally manage to talk, she blurted out, “It’s Ricky.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
1983
Grimacing through the pain, Joe leaned over and pulled the ski mask off Ricky. He was dead—that would have been clear enough even without the lack of a pulse. Kathleen found the gun nearby. Joe emptied it, and they carried it with them.
Taking the motorboat back was an easy decision. Along the way, Kathleen managed to fill him in on what had happened after she’d fled. She’d circled the island in the rowboat, looking for a way to sneak back to him, when she’d encountered the motorboat tied to a tree. She left the rowboat there as well and took an oar to come to his rescue. She realized it was Ricky when she recognized his voice taunting Joe. “It all made sense then. It was him that day when I thought I saw him standing across the street. He was the one who broke into my house, and he followed us across the lake.”
“You took a big risk coming back. You could have gotten hurt or killed,” Joe said, holding his injured arm to his side. He winced as the boat crested and dropped.
“I couldn’t leave you,” she said. “I had no choice.”
Once they reached the other side of the lake, she told Joe to stay put while she scrambled out of the boat to get help at the Barn Dance. A rush of assistance arrived in the form of several young men who helped Joe onto the pier. A local doctor was in attendance, as was a police officer and a sheriff’s deputy. Kathleen hovered over Joe while filling them all in on what had happened on the island.
The doctor drove them to the closest hospital, where Joe was immediately seen in the emergency room. Joe’s severest injuries were cracked ribs and a broken arm, a displaced fracture that required surgery. As they wheeled him down the hall to the operating room, he felt awful that he was leaving Kathleen to be interviewed by a police officer, but he didn’t have a choice.
Coming out of the anesthesia after the surgery, he found himself mentally drifting along a river of memories—not his own, but those of John Lawrence Robinson. The fragmented dreams he’d had for months were gone, replaced by more complete memories: John carrying Daisy on his shoulders while Alice hung the wash; the feeling of dancing with Alice in his arms; the joy in discovering a new love letter and then keeping it safe so he could read it over and over again. All these and so many more.