D. Gilles - Colder Than Death

I was careful not to open my mouth completely. Before I did, I turned my head to the left, hoping there would be less of a chance for dirt to slip in. I didn’t waste a second wondering if it was safe to breathe. I just did it. And I was alright. Where seconds before I was welcoming death, I suddenly welcomed life, even if only for the next few minutes. Or seconds.

I felt something on my right cheek. It was moving slowly. Something small and round. And cold. Not so much cold, but…wet. And it was moving, no…slithering at a painstakingly slow pace across my skin. It didn’t take long for me to realize that it was a worm.

A grub. Probably no bigger than a nickel. I wasn’t even dead and the elements were already after me.

There were two overriding questions on my mind: would I have the strength to dig my way out and, if I so, how long should I wait before trying? What if Nolan was still there?

I knew that the longer I waited the greater the risk that the air filtering through the dirt to my nose would be cut off. My only hope was to get out fast and the only way to accomplish this was to muster up every ounce of strength and in one frenzied effort, dig my way out.

I raised my right hand and began clawing. I could feel some of the dirt that was on top of me slide under my back, creating a kind of cushion. The sensation was much like being buried in the sand. If I hadn’t been so weakened from the beating he’d given me, I might’ve had a better chance. And if there was more air I might’ve had the strength to give it a couple of more shots.

But I’d been in the ground too long. The air was gone, the dirt was too heavy and even though it was less than three feet from the surface of the grave, it was too far to go. So I stayed there, giving up, knowing this was it, feeling horrible that I couldn’t do anything to help Quilla, feeling somewhat relieved to know what had happened to Alyssa, but nauseated at the way she had died. My thoughts turned to Gretchen. She would go on searching for the mother who had indeed been killed twenty-four years ago. I quickly calculated in my head that Gretchen’s house in Croybridge was about a ten minute drive from Nolan’s.

I closed my eyes. I felt myself blacking out. Alyssa’s face flashed before my eyes for a moment, then Gretchen’s. As I lay dying, my last thought was of Gretchen and what might have been. Once again I had only the promise to hold on to. Then I heard a muffled voice and the unmistakable sound of dirt being moved.

“I’m coming!” said the voice, which I couldn’t place. “I’m coming!”

Suddenly I felt a slight wisp of air on my face. I breathed in. Then another. I breathed in again. Then another and another and another and the voice became clearer and I was able to recognize it.

“You okay, Mr. Coltrane?” said Viper as he reached his hand into the grave and pulled me out.

“You look like shit,” said another voice that I placed instantly. It was Greg Hoxey. He was holding a flashlight, aiming the beam at me. I fell to the ground, breathing furiously. I couldn’t get enough air. In-between breaths I managed to say to Greg, “How did you get here?”

“Viper called me.” Green dental floss dangled from the right corner of his mouth.

I looked at Viper. He shrugged and said, “I know you told me to call Perry Cobb, but he scares me and I trust Greg, so I called him. I hope that was okay.”

I turned to Greg. “It’s Nolan.”

“What’s Nolan?”

“He killed Brandy Parker and seven other women. And he’s got Quilla. He’s gonna kill her next. She’s in the house. The attic.”

Greg turned to Viper and said, “You help Del. I’ll handle Nolan.” Viper nodded and Greg ran about ten yards.

“Wait!” I said. He stopped. “Nolan’s got a gun.”

“So do I,” said Greg, then took off again for the house. Viper took me by the arm and with great effort guided me up the incline of the gully as we started back to the house.

“How did you find me?”

“I got scared being in the Funeral Parlor alone. You said you were going to Mr. Fowler’s, so I figured that I’d hook up with you here. When I got here and I couldn’t see your car. I figured I had the wrong house so I walked over to a couple other houses and I saw your car and figured you parked it there for a reason, then while I was coming back to Mr. Fowler’s house to look for you I saw his car pull in his yard. The next thing I know you’re coming outta his house and he’s pointing a gun at you, so I kept following. I watched him make you dig the hole. I remembered Quilla saying you had a cellular phone in your car, so I got it and called Greg.”

“You saved my life, Viper. I owe you, man.”

“Thanks. Think Greg’ll be able to handle Mr. Fowler alright?”

I was about to say, “I don’t know” when a shot rang out from inside Nolan’s house. Viper and I looked at each other. Then another shot cut through the night air. Working on adrenaline I stumbled as fast as I could to the house. Viper wanted to go in. I told him not to, then said, “Call 911. It’ll hook you up with the dispatcher at the police station. He’ll call Perry.”

Viper took off. I sat down on the grass in the dark, wondering who had fired the shots, hoping that Greg would either be leading Nolan outside at gunpoint or coming by himself with the news that Nolan had been shot. By now my breathing was back to normal, but my body ached with excruciating pain and cold numbness. I brushed away the clumps of dirt clinging to my clothes and face. As I was doing so I heard a grunting noise coming from the house. I slid a few feet further away from the rear door, trying to get totally out of sight. Within a few seconds Nolan came out of the house, carrying Greg’s lifeless body on his shoulder. Without hesitation he headed back towards the gully, no doubt to bury Greg alongside me. Nolan was walking at a steady pace, considering that a hundred and fifty pound man was on his shoulder. When he arrived at my grave he would go ballistic. To save Quilla and myself I would have to go in the house, get her and hope that Viper had reached Perry.

Again, reeling in all my strength, I stood up and dragged myself into the house, up the stairs and into the room with the bodies. Quilla was still asleep. I wondered what kind of drug he’d given her. I untied the leather straps and tried to pick her up. Under normal conditions she would have been light, but in my battered state it was like lifting five hundred pounds. I would have to drag her out and down the stairs, which I proceeded to do.

Things went smoothly until we got to the back door. Just as I was about to open it I saw Nolan running across his back yard towards the house. He had discovered that I’d gotten out of the grave. I thought about dragging Quilla back through the house and out the front door, but I knew I wouldn’t have the energy. So I decided to go down into the basement and hide until the police arrived.

As gently as I could, I dragged Quilla down the basement stairs, past Nolan’s workshop and into the utility room. We hid in the corner by the washer and dryer. We waited.

Nolan yanked open the back door and ran inside and up the stairs to the second floor. The house was so old and creaky it was easy to hear the pounding of his footsteps even though we were in the basement. Within seconds, I heard them pounding down the stairs, stopping, probably to look in a room or behind something, then starting again.

I was beginning to wonder if coming down to the basement was a bad idea, but I had no choice. I was exhausted. It was the only place left to go. Overhead I could hear Nolan’s footsteps as he walked towards the basement. Then came the sound of his shoes walking tentatively down the basement steps. I knew he knew I was down here. I placed the sleeping Quilla as far behind the washer as possible, then covered her with a dirty towel I grabbed from a pile of laundry.