Part 27 (1/2)

Peter said, ”You never should have made friends with my brother. No one else wanted anything to do with him. I tried to warn you off. Most people who get shot at tend to stick close to home, not go around b.u.t.ting their noses into other people's business.” With that, he walked away.

Believe me, I was sorry I had befriended Leslie. But hindsight is twenty-twenty.

When I could no longer hear Peter's footsteps, I rushed up to the door and pushed on it. I kicked it. It didn't even wiggle. I reached for the top of the wall and tried to pull myself up to see out. I managed to get an inch off the ground before I dropped. Even at my current light weight, I couldn't do it. Pull-ups never were my thing, and my muscles were weak from months of inactivity.

I heard the Lexus turn over. Good. Maybe he'll steal my car and Ray would find me here later.

No such luck. The Lexus pulled inside the barn. He shut off the engine.

I heard the car door slam and more footsteps. The sound of a creak wafted to my ears from the loft overhead.

A metal trough banged into the bars on my stall. It appeared to descend from the loft. I heard a noise like a garage door lifting. Then another noise like raindrops on a metal rooftop.

Something dropped to the floor at my feet. Corn kernels.

I looked up and watched as a rush of kernels flew off the end of the trough and showered the floor of the stall. They kept coming, covering the floor.

I realized Peter's plan. He was going to bury me alive!

Heart beating out of control, I scrambled to the wall and tried to claw my way up it again as the kernels poured into the stall. They were a foot deep now. Each time I dropped to the floor, I slipped and slid. I lost my grip on the wall. I realized I was screaming when I sucked in a cloud of corn dust and choked.

The kernels kept coming. The dust made my eyes water and my throat burn. I couldn't breathe.

I was knee deep now, struggling to move. My legs were mired in corn. My eyes burned.

I gagged. The air was too full of dust and particles. The oxygen was gone. My lungs strained for a breath of air.

Tears welled in my eyes.

The realization hit me.

I was going to die.

My chest felt tight. The pressure on my legs was growing. I couldn't feel my feet. I kept my eyes closed but my mouth opened involuntarily, trying to suck in air. All I got was a mouth full of corn dust, which made me panic just that much more. I was lost. I love you, Ray.

My fingers clawed uselessly, desperately, at the stall walls.

Then I felt it. The smallest knothole in the wood, maybe big enough for a toehold.

I struggled to lift my right leg out of the kernels. Holding my breath, I bent and unzipped my boot, letting it drop onto the rapidly rising corn.

It took me three tries but I fit my bare toe in the knothole. Summoning all my strength, I heaved myself upward. My big toe cramped but held my weight.

I grabbed the bars, coughing and sputtering. Then I puked corn dust all over my s.h.i.+rt.

My eyes burned when I tried to open them. I gripped the bars tightly with one hand while I rubbed at my eyelids with the other. My tears washed away some of the dust but more came to replace it as the corn kernels kept falling. Soon they would reach my kneecaps at this height, too.

I opened my eyes a slit and tried to see through my tears. Was Peter still in the barn?

Unable to see or hear him, I attempted to swing my still-booted foot onto the top of the stall wall. It took me five tries but finally I managed to pull myself into a kneeling position between the bars. After a moment of rest, I got my feet flat on the stall wood and swung over the top of the bars. From there, I looked at the eight-foot drop to the floor.

In elementary school, I had thought nothing of jumping off the top of the slide. Of course, my bones were a lot less old and brittle then. On the other hand, the stall below had hay on it. Perhaps it would cus.h.i.+on my fall.

I slid off my other boot. Heels planted on the top of the wooden stall, I crouched as low as possible to shorten my drop and let go of the bars.

I landed on my feet and immediately fell forward, smacking my knees for a second time that day on the floor beneath the hay. Winded, I lay still and listened for Peter.

The corn kernels trickled to a halt. The barn was silent.

Pain shot through my ankles as I pulled myself slowly to my feet. If Peter came after me now, he'd have no trouble catching me. My ankles would give out in a chase.

I limped toward the barn door and yelped as an enormous form filled the doorway.

It was Peter.

I backed into the barn, whimpering.

He came after me.

”Jolene, it's me. It's Leslie.”

I squinted, trying to make out the color of the s.h.i.+rt. Even in the dim barn light and with my sore eyes, I could tell it was green. I let out a sob. ”Peter tried to kill me.”

”I know. I'm so, so sorry. He's not ... quite well.” Leslie held out her hand to help me up. ”Come on, let's get you some air.”

Not quite well? Was that like a little bit pregnant? Her excuses sounded familiar, though I couldn't say why.

I let her lead me out of the barn. My eyes closed involuntarily. The sun was too bright and they were too damaged.

”Stand right here. I'll get some water to rinse your eyes.”

I waited for her, afraid when I no longer heard the noise of her footsteps and afraid when I did. My heart beat so loud I feared it would burst.

She touched my arm, making me jump. ”Lean your head back and I'll pour the water over your eyes. It will make it better.”

I did as she asked then felt like I was drowning when the water ran up my nose.

I pulled away, snorting.

She pressed a towel into my hands. ”Here, Jolene. Just blot your eyes gently.”

When I finished, my eyes were still sore but I could see. Peter was lying crumpled by the barn entrance, a huge goose egg on his brow. A shovel lay abandoned on the ground next to him.

I backed away, pointing, my lips moving without sound.

Leslie glanced at him. ”Don't worry. He's out cold.”