Wylie eased herself over the edge and crept slowly up behind him, raising the hoe above her shoulder as if holding a baseball bat. Just as she was going to swing, Randy’s toe connected with something solid. A loud gasp followed, and the girl scrambled out from the straw.
“There you are,” Randy said, holding on to his fatherly tone. “What’d your mom do to your hair? You two trying to run away from me? You know better than that. It’s time to go home, honey.”
Bits of hay clung to the girl’s shorn scalp, and her eyes went back and forth between her father and Wylie, who was still behind him. Wylie put one finger to her lips and waved her hand as if to tell her to move away.
The girl slowly crab-walked backward, putting distance between Randy, until she bumped into the broad side of the barn, below the sharp widow’s peak, where the loft doors, when released, swung outward. The only thing holding them shut was a simple slide lock.
“I know you’re behind me,” Randy said, not bothering with a backward glance. He had no fear. Wylie was nothing but an inconvenience, a gnat to flick aside. “You’re not making this easy. I have to give you credit for that. You always were a survivor.”
The rage that coiled in her chest began to build. Wylie wanted to beat his skull in, wanted to feel the vibration of metal on bone, wanted him to cry out for mercy like she imagined her family had, the way Becky had, but she had to choose the right moment. Instead, she directed her attention to the little girl.
“Stand up,” she told the girl. “I want you to go down the ladder. Once you’re down, go inside the house and lock the door. Make sure your mom is okay.” The girl looked up, fear etched across her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a few minutes. I promise.” The girl slowly got to her feet.
“Stay put,” Randy countered, and she froze. He turned to face Wylie.
Wylie knew that Randy expected her to swing high with the hoe—to aim at his head. Instead, she set her sights low.
“Go now!” Wylie shouted and swung. With a hiss, the metal rod sliced through the icy air and connected with Randy’s knee. With a cry, his legs buckled and he dropped to the ground.
Wylie felt the girl brush by her, but she knew that her work wasn’t done yet. As long as Randy was moving, they were both in danger.
“So Jackson Henley was innocent all along?” Wylie said, trying to keep his attention away from the girl. “All these years, everyone called him a monster, but it was you. Only you.”
Randy gave a little shrug and staggered to his feet. “It was a happy accident that you two happened to show up on his property and when the dog found the rag with Becky’s blood on it. Well, that was just perfect.”
“But you had a family. You had a wife and a son. Where did you keep her? How did you keep her hidden for all these years?” Wylie shook her head. “It was a miracle that you pulled it off.”
Randy scoffed. “My marriage was over, thank God. And my son hated me. I had plenty of time to plan and prepare the old Richter house. I set up the hog confine there and started fixing up the house and its basement. And with everyone pointing fingers at Jackson Henley, I was in the clear.”
“You’re sick,” Wylie said with disgust. “Evil and sick. And now you plan on killing us all. Finish what you started.”
Randy gave a sly smile. “Just you and Henley. The police will think he killed you to finish what he started, and Jackson, well, he’ll just disappear. I’m good at that. Making people disappear.”
Wylie thought about what might happen to Becky and her daughter if she let Randy walk out of the barn alive. With a guttural scream, she struck Randy again. This time she thrust the sharp, pointed blade forward, slicing through his thick parka and piercing his shoulder.
Randy roared with pain and grasped the shaft of the warren hoe, and for a moment, they were lodged in a surreal game of tug-of-war. It didn’t last long. Despite the injury to his shoulder, Randy was bigger and stronger than Wylie and easily pulled it from her grasp.
Relieved of her only weapon, Wylie knew she had to get out of there. The girl was gone and hopefully made it to the house. She glanced at the hayloft door. As children, Wylie and Ethan had spent countless hours swinging from the door’s rope to the ground below. She mentally measured the distance to the door and, in a split second, knew that she’d never get past Randy. Her only way out was down the ladder.
Wylie scrambled toward the ladder, her feet slipping on the slick straw but managed to swing her legs over the hayloft ledge. With shaking limbs, she skirted down the first few rungs and jumped to the barn floor below. She landed with a bone-rattling crash. From the hayloft, Randy loomed above her, the shadow monster of her childhood, now flesh and blood.