Page 82 of Broken Bayou
“Travis, Raymond . . .”
“I know.” He lifts my head. “I followed him out here. I still have my police scanner. Willa, he’s dead.” He glances over my shoulder. “Where’s Doyle?”
“What?”
“He ran when I came in.”
Crickets sing their nightly sounds. My pulse pounds against my chest. Every noise feels amplified. Every shape becomes clearer. The shed. The car. I squint at it. The car. I know that car. Oh my God. It’s Rita’s. I turn to Travis, my mouth falling open but no words escaping.
“Where is he?” Travis says.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t like this.” Travis grabs my hand and pulls me toward the back of the shed. His truck is parked on the back side, out of sight. He opens the passenger door. “Get in.”
“I’m not staying out here alone.”
“Lock the doors,” he says, and he runs for the house.
My eyes dart to the car’s console. I don’t see the keys. I jump from the passenger seat and race around to the driver’s side. When I’m behind the wheel, I press the brake and push the starter. A message appears on the dash:KEY NOT DETECTED. I try again. Same response. I scan the dash and its electronics. Nothing is illuminated. There’s no way to call for help. Maybe a neighbor heard the gunshot and will call the police, but I can’t bank on that. I have to assume we’re out here alone. And I’m out here alone without a weapon.
A loud banging startles me, and I look up to see Eddie pounding on the back windshield. I slam the driver’s door shut and punch thelock button. Eddie tromps to my side of the car. He presses his face to the window.
“Brother says to get you.”
Brother.Doyle.
Eddie tries the door handle but can’t get in. I back away. He bangs the window with a giant flat palm. I scramble over the middle console to the passenger side, keeping my eyes on him as he moves around the front and toward the passenger window.
He bangs the window again. Then he raises his other hand, and I scream. He’s holding a hammer.
In one sharp movement, he smashes the passenger-side window. Shards of safety glass cover me. Eddie reaches through the window and unlocks the door. I try to scurry back across to the driver’s side, but Eddie grabs my ankles and yanks me through the open car door. I hit the ground hard, my T-shirt now up around my head. I kick my legs as much as possible, but Eddie’s grip is strong.
“No fight,” he says. He releases my legs and grabs my arms instead, pulling me to standing. He smooths my T-shirt down, looking away from my bare chest as he does. “No hurt.”
I stay very still. Eddie looks at me with sad eyes. “Mama’s gone.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Where is she?”
Eddie grips my arms tighter. “Dead.”
“How’d she die, Eddie?”
He breaks my eye contact. “Brother.” I feel his arms start to tremble.
I keep my voice as calm as I can. “Please don’t let him hurt me.”
Eddie’s viselike grip doesn’t let up. He wraps an arm around me and, with the other hand clamped over my mouth, drags me to the back of the house. I dig my bare feet into the ground, but little good it does. His strength is uncanny. At the back of the house, Doyle is waiting for us. The harder I struggle, the tighter Eddie holds me.
“Stop it,” Doyle says in a sharp whisper.
I stop moving. Something about Doyle is bothering me. Confusing me. Then Doyle raises my gun. I flinch and struggle, but he doesn’t point it at me. He points it over my shoulder.
Eddie lowers his hand from my mouth. Doyle finds my gaze. And that’s when I see it. He’s terrified. Slowly, I turn to look behind me.
Travis is standing there, his service weapon raised.
“Wait!” I scream, but it’s too late.
