“Straight to hell,” Wylie said with satisfaction.
As she turned to go, Randy’s hand shot out from beneath the straw and grabbed her ankle. Caught off balance, Wylie crashed to the ground, the air forced from her lungs. Pain reverberated through her body.
She’d let her guard down, Wylie thought as she tried to harness her breath. She tried to crawl out of his reach, but with a grunt, he latched onto her waistband and began to drag her toward him. His strength surprised her. She should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily. Wylie tried to fight back but his grip was like a vise. She had nowhere to go.
Randy flipped Wylie onto her back and pinned her arms above her head. Wylie stared up at his mangled face. Why wasn’t he dead? The car should have killed him. Wylie writhed beneath his weight.
“No,” she cried out over and over. Things weren’t going to end this way. She managed to free one hand and raked her fingers down the injured side of his face. He howled in pain but was able to snag her wrist and force it to the ground.
“No!” Wylie screamed again on a continuous loop.
“Shut up,” Randy panted, stuffing a wad of straw into Wylie’s open mouth. She tried to spit it out but the dry, prickly hay filled her cheeks and her throat, instantly cutting off her supply of air. She kicked out in panic, but Randy’s weight was too much for her.
It would be so easy to let go, to just die. She would be able to be with her mother and father again. She could almost feel her father’s hand on her head, could practically hear her mother’s voice. Smile big. Her grandparents would be there too. Time to come home, Shoo, her grandpa would say. Her grandmother, stoic as always, would just nod her approval. And Ethan. She would finally be able to apologize to Ethan for not believing in him. It’s okay, little sister, he would say. I always believed in you.
Randy’s hands were around her throat now, squeezing. It wouldn’t be long now. Little snaps of light floated above Wylie’s face—almost close enough to touch.
But there was Becky and her daughter. An image of thirteen-year-old Becky with the wild tangle of curly black hair and the quick smile appeared as she floated in and out of consciousness. They needed her. She couldn’t leave them behind. Not again.
A fistful of stars, Becky whispered and reached out for her hand and Wylie smiled.
49
The girl knew that she wasn’t strong enough to fight her father, and she knew that Wylie wasn’t strong enough either, but if you had a gun, it wouldn’t matter. She would get the gun to Wylie, and she would make her father leave them alone, make him go away forever.
The snow had stopped, and in the beam of her flashlight, the world looked magical. Part of her wanted to pause and stare at the prettiness of it all, but she knew she had to keep moving. When the girl made it to the barn, she could hear the clatter of a struggle, the flailing of limbs, and a strange gasping sound. Except for the narrow beam from her flashlight, the barn was black. I’m not afraid of the dark, the girl reminded herself. With trembling hands, she moved in the direction of the raspy breaths to find her father. His face was covered in blood, but beneath it, the girl saw his all too familiar rage. He was on top of Wylie with his hands around her neck.
He was killing her. He always threatened to kill them, but he said it so often, she stopped believing it. But here he was, squeezing Wylie’s neck so that her face was turning purple.
“Let her go, Daddy,” the girl said, her voice small and timid. He didn’t even acknowledge she was there. “I mean it,” she said, this time more loudly, with more confidence.
This caused her father to look in his daughter’s direction, but instead of being frightened, he laughed. Shame spread throughout her body. He never listened to her. Ever. She rushed forward until she was standing behind him. “I mean it, let her go,” the girl said, raising the gun she found beneath the sofa after it fell from Wylie’s pocket.
He swung back his hand, striking the girl across the face, sending the gun and the flashlight sliding across the barn floor. In doing so, he released one hand from Wylie’s throat, giving her a chance to fight back. Wylie squirmed out from beneath Randy and wrapped her fingers around the first thing she could lay her hands on, the hammer.
Gasping for breath Wylie managed to get to her knees and swung her arm with all her remaining strength, striking Randy across the shoulder with the claw end of the hammer. He swore and dove toward Wylie. Again, he was on top of her, hands around Wylie’s neck.
“Daddy,” the little girl said from her spot on the barn floor. She had gained purchase on the flashlight and aimed the beam directly in his eyes so that he raised one hand to block the glare.