Free One Last Scream by Kevin O'Brien Page A

those bags into the backseat, we can take it from there.”
    “No problem.” Wendy hoisted one of the bags into the back. The young girl stood by the open door. She whispered something, and Wendy turned to her. “What did you say, honey?”
    “Run,” the child whispered.
    Bewildered, Wendy stopped to stare at her.
    The father cleared his throat. “If you could get in there and slide the bag to the driver’s side. Just climb right in there.”
    Wendy hesitated.
    “Run,” the young girl repeated under her breath.
    For a second, Wendy was paralyzed. She squinted at the child, who began to back away from her. Wendy wasn’t looking at the man.
    She didn’t see him coming toward her with one of his crutches in the air.
    “Run!” the child screamed at her. “No!”
    It was the last thing Wendy heard before the crutch cracked against her skull.
     
     
     
    The nine-year-old sat alone in the front passenger seat of the minivan. Her face was swollen and throbbing. He’d parked the vehicle on an old dirt road by some railroad tracks. In all the times she’d sat alone in this minivan, parked in this spot, she’d never seen a train go by. And she’d spent many hours here.
    Clouds swept across the dark horizon on this warm June night. She could only see the outlines of the tops of the trees ahead of her. The rest was just blackness. She couldn’t tell where he’d taken the bicycle lady. The screams seemed far away, maybe somewhere beyond the trees.
    She’d had to endure his wrath all the way there, while the woman lay unconscious and bleeding in the back. Usually, he knocked them out with one quick, bloodless blow while they were inside the minivan. But she’d screwed everything up with that nice chubby lady, and he’d heard her trying to warn the bike woman. He kept saying it was her fault he had to hit the woman with his crutch. She’d bled on him while he’d loaded her into the back.
    He repeatedly reached over from the driver’s side and swatted her on the back of the head. “Think you’re really smart trying to trip me up,” he growled. “That slap earlier was nothing. I haven’t even started with you, yet. Would you look at the blood back there? Shit, I think she’s hemorrhaging. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dies before we even get to the woods. If you’d done what you were supposed to, I might have had time to load her bike in the car. You might have gotten a new bicycle tonight. But, no, too bad for you.”
    The young woman was still alive. He’d revived her while dragging her toward the darkened woods. Her screams had started out strong, but now they seemed to be weakening.
    It wouldn’t be much longer.
    The nine-year-old dreaded going home. She wished she were older, and knew how this minivan worked. Then she’d just start up the engine, drive away, and never come back. But she had to stay—and endure his punishment later.
    She stared out at the blackness beyond the windshield and listened to the screams fading. She thought about how it didn’t pay trying to help some people.
    That stupid woman had gotten her into a lot of trouble.
     
    Seattle—eleven years later
    She pulled over to the side of the tree-lined street and watched Karen Carlisle’s Jetta turn into the driveway. Karen may have spotted her in the hallway at the convalescent center, but obviously didn’t realize she’d been followed home. In fact, Frank Carlisle’s shrink daughter seemed to have no idea that for almost three weeks now, her comings and goings had been carefully monitored.
    She knew Karen’s routines: when she ate and slept and walked the dog, and what she wore to bed. She’d figured out the housekeeper’s schedule, too. She knew when Karen was usually alone and when she was at her most vulnerable. She even knew where they hid the spare house key for emergencies (under a decorative stone in a garden by the back door).
    Of course, Karen would wonder about seeing her in the hallway at the rest home today.