Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

"He didn't do anything." Dennis, haggard from his ordeal, stared at the closed garage doors.

"Exactly. He opened the door, saw what was going on, and closed it. Did precisely nothing."

"In shock, probably."

"He could have gotten the coach."

"We were all kids. Kids make bad decisions. He was probably as scared in his way as I was in my way. He's a father now. Have you no pity?"

"No." Ron turned his cold eyes on Dennis. "Why should I? I was pinned down, raped-and they laughed. Called me a faggot. I was a faggot. Do you know where the word 'faggot' comes from, Dennis? From the Middle Ages, when people burned witches. The woman was tied to the stake and surrounding her were homosexual men who were set on fire first. Instead of bundles of kindling, we were the kindling. I have no pity."

Ron checked his watch. "Lie down. I don't want your head to show." As Dennis squinched down, Ron reached over and stuck a rag in the poor man's mouth. "You should have stood up for me, you know. You just stood there. Oh, you told them to stop. I believe you said it once. If it had been you I'd have fought. I'd have given my life for you. Now you can give yours for me. Lie down, damnit!"

Dennis didn't even look at him as he slid down as far as he could. Since Ron had threatened to kill Dennis's two children, Dennis would do anything Ron said. Meanwhile, his brain overheated, trying to find a way out. If there was no way out, then he was determined to take out Ron. But how?

Ron hit the electronic button to raise the garage door, then pulled out into the snowy darkness.

"Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work I go," he sang as he headed through town. Everyone was snug inside, their lights shining through the falling snow.

58

Harry and Tracy buzzed around the kitchen making pea soup, a favorite winter treat. Fair called to say he'd be late. A horse at Mountain Stables had badly cut his hind leg and needed stitching up. He didn't think he'd be back for another hour and a half because he needed to swing by the office and fill his truck with supplies. He had a hunch he'd be on plenty of calls the next couple of days as people kept their horses in stalls, feeding them too much grain. Colic often followed heavy snows. Since Tracy was there he felt Harry was okay.

Tucker jerked up her head. "Someone's coming. On foot!"

"Tucker, chill." Harry heard nothing.

Both cats ran to the kitchen door. A towel was stretched across the bottom of it to keep out the draft.

A knock on the door surprised the humans.

"Chris, what on earth are you doing here in this weather?" Harry opened the door.

"I was coming back from Waynesboro. I did a big shop at Harris Teeter in preparation for the storm and my car died. Absolutely dead. No lights. No nothing. Do you think you could run me home in your truck? I could throw everything in the back."

"Sure."

"I'll do it." Tracy plucked his coat off the peg.

"Thank you so much." Chris smiled. "I'm sorry to bother you on such a cold night. I saw Fair's truck parked at Mountain Stables when I came down the mountain. He never gets a break, does he?"

"No." Harry smiled. "Comes with the territory."

Tracy, his hand on the doorknob, said, "Call Fair, will you?" What he really meant was, call Rick Shaw and tell him you're alone, but he didn't want to say that in front of Chris since the sheriff had told them to keep it quiet.

"I will." She waved as the two walked out the door.

Harry picked up the phone, dialing the sheriff's number. "Hi," she said, but before she could finish her sentence Chris was back in the kitchen, a gun in her hand, leveled at Harry.

"Hang up. Come outside."

Tucker grabbed Chris's ankle but she leaned over and clunked the faithful creature on her head. Tucker dropped where she was hit.

"Tucker!" Mrs. Murphy screamed.

Pewter, thinking fast, shot out the kitchen door and through the screened-in porch door, which was easy to open. Much as Mrs. Murphy wanted to lick her fallen friend's face, she knew she had to follow.

The two cats ran into the barn. Nearly six inches of snow were already on the ground and the snow was so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

Tracy Raz lay in the snow facedown, blood oozing from the back of his head.

Again the cats couldn't stop to help him. They raced into the barn, climbing up into the loft. Once there, Mrs. Murphy stood on her hind legs, pushing up the latch. They wedged their paws at the side and pushed the door open.

"If she'll come this way we can jump down on her. The height will give us force."

"And if she doesn't?" Pewter breathed hard.

"We follow and do what we can."

Simon waddled over and saw Tracy. "Uh oh."

"Simon, help us push a bale of hay over to the opening," Murphy commanded.

The three small animals tried but they couldn't do it. Pewter kept running back and forth from the hay bale to the loft door opening.

"Here they come!"

Chris walked behind Harry. At least she let Harry pull on a jacket. On seeing Tracy lying in front of the barn, Harry rushed over.

"Forget him!"

"But he's . . ."

"Forget him."

"I take it you're not really Chris Sharpton." Harry kept talking as she knelt down and felt Tracy's pulse, which, thanks-be-to-God, was strong.

"No. Come on."

"Where's Dennis?"

"You'll see soon enough."

Murphy wriggled her rear end, then launched herself from the loft opening. She soared through the snowflakes with Pewter right behind her.

"Ooph!" Chris fell backwards as Mrs. Murphy hit her on the chest. A split second later Pewter hit her square in the face. Chris slipped in the snow, falling on her back.

Harry jumped on her.

The gun discharged.

The cats clawed and bit but couldn't do much damage through the winter clothes. Also, the humans were rolling in the snow. Harry, strong, wasn't as strong as Chris. Harry bit Chris's gun hand but Chris wouldn't drop the gun. The cats leapt off when the humans rolled back on the ground. They'd get up, slip and fall, but Harry never let go of Chris's gun hand no matter how hard Chris hit or kicked her.

"We've got to get the gun!" Pewter hollered.

Harry hung on as Chris flung her around, her feet off the ground. Harry dragged Chris down again but they struggled up. The cats kept circling the humans while Simon watched in horror, not knowing what to do.

Finally, Chris pushed Harry away far enough to hit her hard on the jaw with a left hook. The blow stunned Harry enough that she relaxed her grip. Chris hit her again. Harry let go of the gun hand as she slid back into the snow, the blood running from her mouth. The cats again climbed up Chris's legs but she barely noticed them.

She aimed her gun at Harry, who neither begged for life nor flinched. Chris fired, missing her, because Flatface had suddenly flown low overhead and scared her for an instant.