“Sss… ssumthin… ssummthing… crawling… in… my… prrrr… privacy!”
She grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. “Serves you right!” Gave his head another jerk and hissed, “You filthy whore!”
Her hand, guided by sharp fingernails, dug underneath his waist, working toward his pubic.
“There it is,” she said, and instead of pulling whatever it was off, she pressed it against his skin with a fingernail.
Eric gritted his teeth to stifle a scream.
“It’s dead,” and grabbed his penis and squeezed extremely hard. “You’re not the big man you think you are, are you?”
She released him and stood up. “Get on your feet!”
Eric closed his eyes and tried to remember a prayer. Would he be blessed with two epiphanies in one day?
“You heard me, on your feet!” She grabbed his arm and helped him up. “Move!”
It took all of twenty minutes for him to shuffle the short distance to the top of the hill. Ahead, not twenty feet away, he saw the moonlit outline of two cabins, the one on the left caved in, something on it, a tree maybe.
She pushed him down to his knees. “Call her.”
No, he wouldn’t do it! She would have to kill him. He’d hurt Shirley enough, more than enough, and he wouldn’t call her out for this psychotic witch to hurt her. No way! Uh-uh! He had some dignity.
Eric shook his head. “No, I’m not doing it! You might as well kill me ’cause I ain’t doing it. She’s the mother of my child.”
“Is that a fact?” He heard the gun cock and felt it against his temple. “Listen to me, whore, and listen good. You call Ruth Ann out here”—jabbed him twice with the gun—“or you die!”
He didn’t owe Ruth Ann a damn thing. “Ruth Ann!” he shouted. “Ruth Ann! Ruth Ann, could you come out here for a minute!”
Chapter 38
The front door was open.
Hand on his weapon he stepped in. Something’s wrong here, he could feel it. People in Dawson often left their doors unlocked, but they didn’t leave them wide open.
“Hello! Sheriff Bledsoe coming in!”
The living room looked in order. Into the hallway: “Sheriff Bledsoe! Anybody home?” Looked into all four bedrooms and the bathroom. No one home and nothing out of place.
Heading for the front door he caught a whiff of vinegar. Had someone left a pot boiling?
The kitchen looked as if a tornado had hit it. Everything in the cabinets and the fridge was on the floor. The kitchen table flipped over. This wasn’t an act of God; this was an act of man, an enraged man…
He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
He slapped his forehead again. He had her, had her in the palm of his hand. She’d confessed and pleaded to be locked up. And what did he do?
Already he could hear the mayor’s reprimand: “So, Ennis, Mrs. Harris was at the jail voluntarily, her own volition, no coercion or assistance from anyone, pleading, begging to be locked up, because as she’d claimed vociferously, repeatedly, emphatically, she’d killed her husband. Tell me again, Sheriff Ennis Bledsoe, you did what?”
From his stomach came a strident percolation… and then it erupted, spewing hot acid into his chest, throat, mouth, sinuses… Bent over, hands on his knees, he swayed side to side. After a long moment, the pain ebbing very little, he stood upright.
Pain or no, he had to find Ida, before she hurt someone else, if she hadn’t already. One hand on his back, he walked out to the cruiser. Picked up the mike, put it down. No, he wouldn’t issue a BOLO for Ida. He had to find her himself.
Lester was home, but he hadn’t seen Ida or Ruth Ann. No one answered the door at Robert Earl’s house. The young woman at Shirley’s home said Shirley was gone, claimed she didn’t know when Shirley would be coming back and couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her. Obviously lying. Why? He didn’t have a clue.
Wal-Mart, Fred’s, Piggly Wiggly, the library, he went inside each and traversed every aisle. No sign of Ida or any of her children.
Waiting for the lone light on Main Street to turn green, he wondered where next to check. A drunk staggered down the steps of the old post office building and stepped into the middle of the street.
The light turned green and the drunk fell in front of the cruiser.
Sheriff Bledsoe was shocked. Reverend Stanley Walker slapped the hood with both hands and slurred, “Watch where the hell you going, Sheriff!”
“Who is it?” Ruth Ann asked.
“I don’t know,” Leonard said.
“Ruth Ann! Ruth Ann,” the voice called, “could you come out here for a minute?”
“Eric!” Ruth Ann and Shirley said in unison.
Robert Earl said, “Ruth Ann, you oughta go out there and see what he want.”
“No!” Leonard said. “He might have a gun.”
“He’s not the one,” Shirley said. “Robert Earl, holler back and tell him Ruth Ann is not here.”
“Are you crazy! And let him know I’m in here. You holler and tell him. He’s your man.”
“He didn’t call me,” Shirley said. “He called Ruth Ann.” Ruth Ann was thankful for the darkness: she could imagine the look Shirley was shooting her way.
“Ruth Ann!” Eric shouted. “I know you’re in there! Come out and talk to me!”
“What do you want?” Ruth Ann shouted back, praying he wouldn’t say something stupid.
“I-I-I… broke my… head. I broke my leg.”
“Somebody’s threatening him,” Shirley said. “That’s not Eric talking.”
“Shirley,” Leonard said, “how do you know—”
A brick fell to the floor.
“Oh no!” Ruth Ann cried. “He’s coming through the fireplace!”
“Robert Earl?” Shirley said. “Robert Earl?”
“What?” Robert Earl said, his voice sounded as if he were outside.
“Where are you?”
“Shirley, if you don’t mind, would you stop calling my name!”
“He’s in the chimney.”
“The chimney?” Leonard said. “How did he get in—Robert Earl, what are you doing in the chimney?”
“Take a guess. And stop calling my name!”
“He’s hiding again,” Shirley said.
“Figures,” Leonard said. “I hope no one pours liquid fire down the chimney.”
“Wh-why would anyone do that, Leonard?” Robert Earl asked. “Why? Answer me—why?”
