Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller Page 6

  Angela guided Ken down the hall to a kitchen the size of his house. A counter curved along the side wall, covered in more liquor and beer containers than his brain could process. Bourbon brushed up against twelve-packs of Guinness; empty wine glasses sat atop stacks of Shock Top and Budweiser. Various labels he didn’t recognize stretched from one end of the counter to the other.

  She went to the fridge along the far wall. She stuck the amaretto inside, then spun around with a six-pack of Easy Street—Ken’s favorite brew.

  He gawked, stunned that she remembered. Last April they’d discussed citrus wheat beers while chaperoning a field trip. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “A thank you would work.” She set the six-pack in his trembling palms. It felt heavy. “By the way, you can’t leave until you finish all six. House rule.”

  He lifted a bottle. “Want to help me out?”

  “I’m not drinking tonight.”

  “Really?” He couldn’t tell if she was joking. “You seem loosened up.”

  She shrugged. “I’m drunk on good company. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the tribe.”

  Ken twisted open a beer and sipped nervously, letting the smooth, spicy flavor relax him.

  They headed outside into a patio area where a group of women in their mid-twenties were playing Cards Against Humanity and bellowing with laughter. About two-dozen other ladies and gents yammered in the backyard, some splashing around in the swimming pool while others swigged drinks beside a fire pit. Tiki torches blazed across the lawn, spreading a funky odor that left Ken sick to his stomach. He could barely keep himself together while Angela introduced him to an overwhelming number of unfamiliar faces.

  Eventually he settled into a lawn chair near a couple of private school teachers Angela had worked with before being hired at Morgan High. He made conversation, and though they spoke to him at length, neither seemed interested in anything he had to say. He feared they might’ve heard about his rocky reputation in the school district.

  Looking for an excuse to abandon the conversation, he spotted Angela beside the garage. One of her guests was puking between the bushes. He grabbed napkins and rushed over.

  “Thanks, Ken.” She passed the napkins to her guest. “Some of my friends are enjoying a rare night off from parenting, so they’re going all out.” She patted the woman’s back before stretching tall. It bothered him that he was an inch shorter than her. “How’s life on Easy Street?”

  It took Ken a moment to realize what she meant. “Oh, the beer. It’s great.”

  “Hey, do you swim?”

  He flinched. “N-no. Never.”

  “Never? What, did you almost drown as a kid?”

  “No, nothing like that.” His mind wandered back to his wedding day, and he remembered cold water all around him. “Swimming just isn’t my thing.”

  “Bet I can change your mind.”

  “Good luck with that. Honestly, you’d have to put a gun to my head.”

  “Well, then.” She smirked before cocking her thumb and forefinger into the shape of a gun. She touched her fingernail to his forehead and, in a cheesy Old Western accent, said, “Hop in, pardner.”

  “That thing loaded?”

  She dropped her thumb and said, “Bang!”

  He grinned. “Can’t swim if I’m dead.”

  “I fired a blank, you goof. Now hop in.”

  “Nah, didn’t bring my swim trunks. Besides, it’s getting chilly.”

  “The pool’s heated.”

  “Even so, I’m not going swimming in khakis.”

  “Why not? Oh, come on, Ken. Don’t make me throw you in.”

  “Do that, you’ll owe me a new phone.”

  She crossed her arms. “How bout this then? Let’s sit along the edge and get our feet wet. You and me.”

  Though he hated the thought of being even partially submerged, he couldn’t say no to that.

  They picked a dry spot several feet down from the diving board. The chlorine odor nipped the air. Ken removed his shoes and socks while she lowered herself to the concrete edge. The way her legs unbent as she dangled her feet over the water hypnotized him. He rolled his pants up to his knees and approached. He wanted to get close enough to brush elbows with her, but his nerves stopped him short. He settled an arm’s length away.

  She dipped both calves beneath the surface with a satisfied sigh.

  He followed suit. The water’s warmth soothed him. “Feels nice.”

  “Told ya.” She seized his shoulder. “Now jump in!”

  “Whoa, stop!” He leaned back, kicking up splashes. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Lots,” she said, laughing. “Should I write up a list?”

  “That could take all weekend.”

  “Hey!” She slapped his arm. “Watch it. I’ve been extra nice to you tonight.”

  “Didn’t ask for special treatment.”

  “Well, you’re getting it. You need something to smile about.”

  “I do?”

  “Definitely.” She met his eyes, frowning. “Soward giving the job away to her daughter’s boytoy—that’s such crap.”

  He waved it off. “Other positions will open.”

  “You deserve better.” Her hand found his shoulder. “You’re one of the best teachers I know—full-time or otherwise. I heard about your students writing a petition for you yesterday. If I’d known, I would’ve signed my name in massive bubble letters.”

  His cheeks burned, and he was thankful for the nighttime shade. Between the weight of her hand on his shoulder and the kind words flowing through his ears, he expected to melt into the pool at any moment.

  “Speaking of that petition,” he said, “Pete acted kinda weird when it was his turn to sign. Did you have any luck talking to him yesterday?”

  “Uh, well…” Her hand slid from his shoulder. “Pete’s going through some personal issues. He asked me not to tell anyone, so I have to respect that.”

  “Right, right.”

  “He’ll be okay, though. Give him time. You know how teenagers are.”

  “Yep. Different every day.” An uneasy silence dipped between them. He gulped the last of his beer and set it down. “I should probably head out.”

  “Already? Don’t you want to hop in the pool first?”

  “Sorry, can’t. Gotta head home and make sure my father’s okay.”

  “Excuses, excuses.”

  “It’s getting late.” He withdrew his legs from the water and stood. He gestured across the yard. “Look, even your fire pitters are starting to leave.”

  “Yeah,” she said, climbing out, “but they don’t have beers to finish.”

  He snorted. “Not this again.”

  “Come on,” she said, poking his belly. “That was our deal.”

  “Your deal,” he said, wishing he were in the pool with her. Wishing the water didn’t make him think of Olivia. “Tell you what. Next summer we’ll go swimming.”

  “You promise?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great! Mark the date on your phone. Third Monday in June. Right after school’s out. Deal?”

  “Deal.” He swiped through his phone’s calendar. “What time?”

  Rather than replying, she seized his phone and tossed it on the lawn. Before he could react, her hands crashed into his chest and his feet left the concrete. For a moment his mind screamed as weightlessness carried him over the concrete edge. Then he struck the water with a warm, terrifying splash that swallowed him whole and soaked his clothes.

  When he surfaced, he spat chlorinated water and glared up at her.

  She squatted along the edge of the pool, scrunching her nose. “Whoops. Did I say June? I meant tonight.”

  “Nice going.” He splashed her. “Now my clothes are soaked.”

  “Easy fix for that,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Just take them off.”

  Chapter 12

  Since entering Pennsylvania, Michelle’s every thought ended in murder
.

  Over the past hour she had imagined every conceivable way to put a bullet in her sister, from neck-twisting headshots to spine-shattering blasts. She pictured Hannah bleeding from her eyes and arms and guts and thighs. She pictured Hannah floating in swamps of her own blood. Pictured her skull full of holes. Pictured her dressed in lead. Pictured ammo casings falling by the thousands, burying her beyond sight, beyond memory.

  These morbid fantasies whetted the appetite of her gunhand. It ached brutally, the hunger traveling up her elbow, shoulder, and neck, where it settled before snapping onto her brainstem like a pair of snake jaws. The bite clenched tighter by the moment, even when her pain receptors maxed out.

  She needed to shoot. To kill.

  Yet she couldn’t.

  Not while lying tied up in the trunk of the van.

  Behind her, both wrists were bound by a phone charger cable and a pair of shoelaces. The laces were wrapped directly behind the trigger, blocking its path and rendering her unable to shoot. Earlier she had decided it was the only way to guarantee Hannah’s safety until they reached Fujima. So far, the restraints had served their purpose, but now, as Michelle struggled feverishly against her bindings, she wished she’d chosen another target and ended this nightmare sooner.

  Over miles and miles, the van thumped along, mercilessly slow, yet fast enough to fling her against the walls on sharp turns. Coupled with the stench of leftover buffalo subs, all the bouncing around made her want to puke her organs out. She couldn’t take this anymore.

  “Hannah, pull over,” she called over the backseat. “Let me out.”

  “Almost there,” Hannah yelled back. “Minutes away.”

  The minutes dragged like decades. Then—miracle of miracles—the van’s momentum dipped. It eased to a complete stop, and Hannah rushed out to lift the hatchback open.

  “We’re here,” Hannah said, panting as if she’d run hundreds of miles instead of driving them. “It’s a crowded street. Lot of houses, and there’s a bar next door. Once you ice Fujima, we can’t linger. We’ll have to hightail it, okay?”

  Michelle twisted around, her heart rate soaring. Her shoulders strained as she shifted the gun behind her back, trying to aim. She spotted delicious red targets in her sister’s eyes.

  “Ready?” Hannah said, tugging on Michelle’s legs. “Let’s move you up to the porch. Then I’ll untie you.”

  Michelle groaned as she pressed her feet to the paved road. Ahead, vehicles were parked along both sides of the street. Neon signs for Rolling Rock and Yuengling reflected off nearby windshields. The bar’s front door opened, and a Mötley Crüe song wailed as two people in blood-red Phillies shirts exited.

  Killkillkill, she thought. Kill Phillies fans. Kill Hannah. Kill everyone.

  Once the bargoers drove off, Hannah guided Michelle up the sidewalk to Fujima’s porch. Upon reaching the front door, her appetite surged. Even with Fujima nearby, she wanted Hannah dead and bloody. She couldn’t wait another second.

  “Hold still,” Hannah said. “Let me undo those knots.”

  “Wait,” Michelle said, her Jekyll overruling her Hyde. “Don’t undo them. Just loosen them. I’ll do the rest once you’re gone.”

  “Gone? Where am I supposed to go?”

  “Drive around the block. Park one street over and wait. Trust me.”

  Hannah stared back. “Okay. But don’t fuck this up. Soon as you drop the gun, pick it up with a towel or something. Then head straight out the door. Don’t let anyone stop you. I’d rather die than lose that gun.”

  “I know, I know,” Michelle said, agitated. “Now loosen the goddamned knots.”

  Michelle steadied her shoulder against the front door. The pressure on her wrists tightened as Hannah tugged at the charging cable and shoelaces. The temptation to shoot worsened as the pressure grew more suffocating. Then a faint coolness trickled through each wrist.

  “Loose enough?” Hannah asked.

  “Yeah. Now leave.”

  Hannah kissed her cheek and rushed back to the van.

  As Hannah pulled away from the curb, Michelle pried at the slackened cable. What a bitch of a thing. It went tight, loose, tight, loose. Her fingers danced; warm anxiety mounted within her chest. The moment she sensed her bindings slipping free, she pecked her nose against the doorbell like a drunk duck.

  Ding-dong.

  Behind her, one knot came undone. The rubber cable slid off. Her fingers nipped at the shoelaces. She wrestled with them, gritting her teeth as she yanked back and forth. The laces slid with a satisfying smoothness, then jerked to an agonizing stop. New sweat left her pores as she realized that loosening one knot had tightened the other.

  Dead ahead the doorknob jiggled.

  No. Not now. Not yet.

  The door swung inward. There was no one there. The house greeted her with shadows and silence. A faint odor reached her nostrils, but her sleep-deprived mind failed to identify it. Something like baby powder and cheap soap. Smelled like the elderly.

  Then something gleamed in the light coming from the streetlamp.

  Something waist high, to the left of the doorway.

  It was a pistol.

  And a wheelchair-bound man was pointing it at her.

  Chapter 13

  While Angela escorted her guests to their vehicles, Ken toweled off as best he could without removing his wet clothes. He stood beside the fire pit, savoring its faint warmth. His shirt and pants clung to him, and his soggy boxers chafed along his crotch. A mucky layer of water that his socks hadn’t absorbed squelched inside his shoes. With the night growing chillier and the fire pit dying down, the heated pool was looking tempting.

  And so was Angela. Nothing tempted him more than the thought of alone time with her. He could hardly believe the turn of events tonight.

  However, excited as he was, this situation made him uneasy. She was attempting to betray her husband mere hours after he’d left for a business trip. Considering what Ken had gone through with his ex-fiancée, he hated the thought of fracturing a serious relationship.

  And yet, her marriage seemed meaningless. Her classroom nameplate indicated as much. She never discussed her husband in school, as if he were a sour subject she preferred to avoid. The way she’d kissed his cheek tonight was perfunctory at best; not the kiss of a lover who would miss her departing husband.

  The gate squealed. Angela entered the backyard, the night air tossing the hem of her robe. She approached with a relaxed stride.

  “Everyone’s heading home,” she said. In her cartoony Western drawl, she added, “Just you and me, pardner.”

  He tried to think of a clever reply, but before he could, she spoke again.

  “Hey, Ken?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tonight somebody referred to you as ‘Ken the Eraser.’ What’s that about?”

  His balls hiked up into his crotch. He hadn’t heard that awful nickname in years. It reminded him of his failed wedding and the messy aftermath that caused him to get fired from his original teaching job. Not something he wanted to discuss on a first date, or whatever this was.

  “It’s a long story.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. I won’t pry.”

  For a moment, neither said anything.

  The pressure was on.

  He tossed his towel aside. “Think I’ll warm up in the pool.”

  “Great idea.” She grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the water.

  At the pool’s edge, she released him and began untying her robe. It separated, revealing her black one-piece. The suit hugged tight against her body, clasping her breasts above the smooth slide of her belly. When her robe dropped and she waded into the shallow end, it dawned on him that they were alone together under the moonlight.

  Peeling off his wet clothes, he stumbled in place, his mind a crossfire of excitement and dread. Once his shirt hit the grass, he undid his belt and dropped his pants. Wearing nothing but his boxers, he waded in, the heated water swallowing him from foot
to waist.

  Ahead, she floated with her arms outstretched and her legs pressed together. Her wet swimsuit glowed under the moon, her breasts two shadowy mounds atop her prone chest. The view and the warm water sent his penis hiking against his boxers.

  With a tense breath, he continued into shoulder-high water.

  She swung her arms backward and swam away before he could reach her. He followed her into the deep end, where she kicked off the wall and torpedoed back toward the center. When he chased her down this time, he anticipated her escape route and snatched her by the ankle, sending her into laughter.

  With his free hand, he made a finger gun. “Caught ya.”

  “Now we’re both outlaws.” She twisted around to face him. “Think we should team up?”

  He released her ankle, and she stood in the chest-high water, reaching up to push her dark hair behind her shoulders. His heart ached just watching, and when she took his hand and tugged him forward, he almost had a coronary.

  They stood face-to-face, her eyes fixed on his. In the shadows she smiled serenely, her head tilted sideways. Her hand hadn’t yet released his, and she guided it behind her back. His fingertips brushed her slick suit. The texture sent screeching waves of electricity through him.

  “Hold me?”

  He embraced her warm, firm body while her arms curled behind his neck. As he stared past her, the two of them cheek-to-cheek, he wondered how any of this was possible. Everything that happened since he fell in the pool was too good to be true. Everything. He was in the arms of a woman he fiercely admired, and they were half-naked. That never happened to Ken Fujima. Not since what should’ve been his wedding day. The voice in the back of his mind wouldn’t stop reminding him either.

  He shook a bit loose from her grasp. “Angela?”

  “What?” Though he had pulled back, her hands remained around his neck. “Something wrong?”

  “Yeah. This is.” He glanced around. “It’s nice, but—”