“Stay out of this,” he said. “Stay back and shut up.”
Wylie had stopped moving. Stopped fighting back.
The girl lowered the flashlight and scanned the floor and spotted the gun. Her father blinked rapidly and reached for the claw hammer that lay in Wylie’s limp fingers. “Close your eyes, peanut,” he said. “You don’t want to see this.”
He rose up, hammer lifted above his head, poised to strike when he felt the cold metal barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his head.
The girl closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
50
Present Day
Holding hands, Wylie and the girl lurched to the house; the gash in her temple throbbed. She felt sick, dizzy, and most assuredly had a concussion. The girl kept looking back toward the barn in search of her father. “Don’t worry,” Wylie said, squeezing her hand. “He’s not coming.”
They stumbled through the front door to find Becky still sitting there, the empty shotgun aimed at them.
“Becky,” Wylie said in alarm. “It’s okay. It’s over.”
“He told me he had friends everywhere, and if we tried to get away, they would take us back,” she said shakily.
It took a moment for Wylie to figure out what Becky was saying. “Randy lied to you,” she said. “He told you those things to scare you. He took you all by himself. No one helped him. Randy was the monster. The only monster. And now he’s dead.”
Becky allowed her grip on the shotgun to relax. “He’s dead?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Wylie said. She didn’t mention that it was her daughter who pulled the trigger. There would be time enough for all of that. “He can’t hurt either of you ever again. I promise.”
Slowly, Becky lowered the shotgun and began to cry. The little girl went to her. “It’s okay, Mama,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
Wylie opened the shades so they could see better. The sun was just beginning to rise.
“We have to get out of here,” Wylie said. “We need to get you to the hospital. We’re out of wood, and God knows if the storm is going to start up again.”
“How?” Becky asked through her tears.
“Randy’s truck. I got his keys,” Wylie said pulling them from her pocket. “He’s probably got chains on his tires.”
“Okay,” Becky said in a small voice. “What about the man in the toolshed?”
Jackson Henley. She had been so wrong about him—they all had been. That poor man had been accused of the most heinous crimes, and he was innocent. He may not have been sent to prison, but he had been tried and convicted by his community. Jackson was a victim too.
“I unlocked the shed and let him out. I tried to explain, but don’t worry about him right now. He’s fine,” Wylie said. “You’ll be able to go home—see your mom and dad, your brother and sister.”
“I don’t believe it,” Becky said, settling gingerly onto the sofa. “It doesn’t seem real.”
Wylie led the little girl to the kitchen. “Are you okay?” Wylie asked, getting a good look at the girl’s clothing, hands, face—all splattered with her father’s blood.
The girl nodded, her eyes blank. Wylie feared she was going into shock.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Wylie said, guiding the girl over to the sink and pouring bottled water over her bloody hands. “We’re all safe now. We’re leaving here, and he will never be able to hurt you again.”
The girl’s chin trembled. “I picked up the gun. I saw it fall out of your pocket. I know I wasn’t supposed to touch it, but when you didn’t come back, I got scared. Then I saw the car come through the barn. I thought you were dead,” she said tearfully. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. So I came to find you.”
“You sure did,” Wylie said, gently wiping a damp cloth across the girl’s face.
The girl gave her a wisp of a smile, and then it fell away. “I shot my dad.” The girl’s voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
“You had to.” Wylie tried to assure her. “You saved my life. You saved your mother’s life. Thank you.” Wylie reached out her arms. After a moment’s hesitation, the girl walked into them, and Wylie pulled the girl into an embrace. They stood there for a long time, the girl’s tears dampening the front of Wylie’s coat. For Wylie, there were no tears. Not yet. She would save them for later.