Andrew Kaufman - The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted - A Psychological Thriller

Soon September came, and thanks to Warren, I was out of there. I went off to college, finally freeing myself from hell, the one she’d owned and operated. As the years wore on, I had less and less to do with her, and as that happened, she continued losing the hold she’d once had on me.

But not all of it.

I could travel to the far ends of the earth, off the planet, even, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Her ghosts still lingered, always would; they’d become a part of me. That’s the most tragic thing about child abuse and its effects—they never leave, just take on another form. The abuser goes on living as if nothing has ever happened while the victim pays the price.

And that’s the biggest lie.

Chapter Fifty-Two

It seemed as if the Texas Plains were becoming the backdrop for our lives and perhaps the saddest of metaphors: a never-ending road. Muted shades of brown flanked both sides of a dusty blacktop, one that seemed to go nowhere.

Just like us.

The events of the past few days were catching up to me, and I could feel my mind and body quickly approaching overload. Now our lives were in more danger than ever, all because of a note and a necklace.

We drove on.

“We can’t go back to Telethon,” CJ said. “That’s the first place he’ll look for us. It feels like there’s nowhere else left to run.”

I sighed. The Road to Nowhere was getting longer all the time.

About ten minutes later, I noticed CJ looking at me funny.

“What?” I said.

She sniffed. Sniffed again. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

I took a deep breath through my nose, and smelled something burning. “Oh, no,” I said. “No, damn it, no! ”

I drove onto the shoulder, pulled to a stop—and as soon as I did, smoke began to drift from under the hood.

“Just when you think it can’t get any worse…” CJ said.

“It does.”

We both got out of the car. I popped the hood and jumped back as a stinking cloud of smoke boiled out.

“I don’t believe this,” CJ said, leaning against the car, crossing her arms and shaking her head. Then she kicked a little dirt.

I knelt and looked under the car. A puddle was already forming on the ground. I stuck my finger in it, took a whiff, looked at CJ. “It’s the radiator. We need to get to a service station.”

“There’s nothing for miles around here,” she said. “Where will we go?”

“Maybe we can flag someone down for help,” I said.

“But what about Bill?”

“Just make sure the safety is off on your gun.”

CJ took the gun out of her purse.

And we waited.

About ten minutes later, we saw a car coming, off in the distance.

“It’s a patrol car,” CJ said, looking ahead and looking relieved, her hand over her forehead to block the sun.

The wind had picked up again, and the air was thick with dust. I squinted as the green and white sheriff’s vehicle rolled toward us.

CJ stowed the gun in her purse, then began flagging him down. She glanced over at me. “It’s the deputy from the diner!”

The car slowed down, came to a halt. The deputy leaned over toward the passenger window.

Before he could say anything, CJ said, “We’ve broken down. Can you get us some help?”

“The nearest service station is up in Boulevard,” he said. “It’s a good fifty miles from here.”

I roofed my hands over my face to shield it from the blowing dust and dirt, tried to speak over the whistling wind. “Can you call them for a tow?”

“No point,” the deputy shouted back, also pitching his voice over the forceful winds, “Jim Shemple’s closed on Wednesdays. It’s his fishing day.”

CJ threw her hands up and said, “You’ve got to be joking.”

The deputy shook his head.

“What can we do?” I asked.

Another strong wind came rushing through, blowing sticks and dirt in our faces, and nearly forcing CJ off the road.

“I could drive you there,” he shouted. “We might get hold of his nephew, Jessie… he lives just a few blocks from the station. He tows for Jim. But it’d be best if you come with, just in case we can’t find him.”

I gave him a nod. “That would be great. We’d sure appreciate it.”

“Hop in, then,” he said.

We piled into the front because the back was filled with all his gear. CJ sat next to the deputy, and I got in after.

“Thanks so much for the help,” CJ said once we were on the road. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

The young man kept his eyes on the road, nodded, smiled politely.

“Something was leaking from a hose,” CJ continued. “It might be an easy fix if we can find the mechanic.”

Then I glanced over at his waistband, and something immediately caught my attention.

Both of his holsters were empty.

I heard what sounded like the slide of an automatic handgun clicking into place, then cold steel on the back of my neck.

“Gawd a mighty, this conversation’s as dull as dishwater,” Bill Williams said. “How ‘bout we liven things up some?”

CJ gasped.

The car kept rolling.

The gun’s barrel slid from the nape of my neck to the soft spot on the back of my head. I felt the burn in my stomach.

“So nice to finally meet you folks,” Bill said with a thick southern drawl, now moving the barrel over to CJ’s head and teasing her curls with it. I could see him in the rearview mirror, all big grin and cold, cold eyes. “Although, I kinda feel like I already know y’all. And I guess in a way, I sorta do.”

He returned the gun to me, pressing the barrel deep into the back of my neck; I clenched my teeth, then swallowed hard.

“Hey, sport,” he said to me. “Mind handing me the little lady’s purse? And don’t try nothin’ foolish or I’ll throw a quick bullet to your brain. It could get messy.”

I lifted the purse over the seat to him.

“I thank you kindly,” he said, then shook it around so he could view the contents. “Well, lookie here. Missy’s got herself a gun. I love me a woman who ain’t afraid to shove some steel around.”

The deputy kept his attention on the road; his grim expression told me he was fighting back his own anxiety.

Bill tilted his hat back with his other hand. “You know, funny thing happens when you pull a radiator hose out ever so slightly. Eventually, thing’s gonna give out, car’s gonna overheat.” He grinned, exposing teeth the color of too many cigarettes. “Got that done while I seen the car parked out front. C’mon, y’all didn’t think I was that dumb, did ya’? That I’d just let you scurry on down the road? Merrily on your way?”

We answered with silence.

He gave the gun a shove against the back of my head. “I believe I just asked a question.”

I shook my head.

“Then all I had to do was scoop up this handsome young man—Telethon’s finest—and have him give me a lift to y’all. He didn’t mind much. Well, not sorta.” He poked the deputy’s shoulder with the tip of his gun, flashed the wide, yellow grin again. “Thanks for helping me with my flat tire, son. So much for being a Good Samaritan?” He laughed at his own joke.

The deputy showed no reaction.

Bill brought the barrel over to CJ and began stroking her hair again. She flinched, and he responded by jabbing it deep into her neck. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. I felt my pulse pounding into my throat, then something warm and tinny on my tongue. I wondered if it was the taste of fear …or maybe fast-approaching death. I grabbed CJ’s hand and squeezed it, could feel her shaking.

“Turn here,” Bill ordered the deputy.

He did, onto a dirt road. The car began to rattle as dust flew up into the air behind us.