The Summer Place

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



“HOWIE! C’MON IN, BUD. You’ve won again.” Rick listened but there was no answer. No feet scuffing in the dirt. No branches cracking. “Howie, did you hear me?” he tried again. The voices of the other children calling Howie drifted around the buildings.

It wasn’t like the boy to stay hidden this long. Usually, by the time they confirmed him as the winner, he was anxious to take his victory lap.

He had been quiet all afternoon...not showing his usual enthusiasm during the zip-lining, hanging back in line rather than pushing to the front like he normally did. At the time, Rick had wondered if perhaps he was afraid of the zip lines. But looking back on the rest of the evening, the boy had been silent throughout dinner and the stories. In fact, Rick couldn’t recall that he’d said anything since mail call. He’d been embarrassed by Reggie’s teasing but that hardly seemed the type of thing that would upset him for very long. He generally shrugged anger off pretty quickly.

Something else was going on. Dreading going home? Afraid his mom and dad might have gotten back together while he was gone? Rick’s insides coiled. If Howie were worried about his dad coming back to live with him, would he hide out to try to prolong going home? Worse yet, would he run away?

Rick beat a hasty retreat back to the pavilion, trying not to jump to conclusions. They were dealing with a nine-year-old. The thickly wooded area around the camp would let in only a minimal amount of starlight...a pretty scary place for a kid to tackle alone.

“Still no Howie, huh?” Rick’s quick headcount answered his question.

Tara shook her head, worry tightening her eyes. “Neil’s gone down to the beach.” She kept her voice low. “He thought maybe Howie stayed behind down there while we were counting.”

Rick understood leaving no stone unturned, but Howie had never broken the rules about where they could hide, and the beach—or anywhere near the water—had always been strictly off-limits.

Rick scanned the area, deciding how to divide up the space for a search. “Where’s Summer?”

Tara pointed in the general direction behind the cabins. “The last time I saw her, she was looking for him over there.”

“I know where she is.”

The small voice beside them caused Rick and Tara both to look down in surprise. Lucy looked at them wide-eyed and shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a cheater, but I thought if I followed Howie, maybe I could win this time.” She sighed dramatically. “But he went into the woods, so I told Ms. Summer. She’s gone after him.”

“Which way did she go?” Rick’s fingers gouged into the skin on his hips as his grip tightened involuntarily.

Lucy pointed to the dark path beyond Rick’s cabin. “I’m supposed to tell you she’s going toward the busy place.”

“The busy place?” Rick looked to Tara for a translation. “What does that mean?”

“The busy place.” A whine entered Lucy’s voice. “The old house where the foxes live.”

“The Byassee place!” A coldness gripped Rick’s insides as he remembered the dead fox kit and the broken whiskey bottle.

“That’s what I said.” Lucy pointed toward the path that snaked through the dark woods.

Rick walked casually in the direction Lucy pointed.

But once within the trees and under the cover of darkness, he ran. His legs pumped furiously, working to keep up with the frantic beating of his heart.

* * *

SUMMER DIDN’T HESITATE WHEN she reached the turnoff to the Byassee place, but she did slow to a walk purely out of necessity. Trying to move fast in her costume was like swimming against the tide. A stitch in her side caught on every intake of ragged breath.

“How-wie?” she called, trying to coax the child out of hiding, and trying to warn anyone hanging out at the Byassee place she was on the way in, giving them a chance to grab their whiskey and make a quick exit.

Any other time, the sounds from the frogs and cicadas would be welcoming. Tonight, she wished they’d shut up. The small beam of light helped, but vision was still limited. It would be her hearing that would alert her to Howie’s presence—she cleared her throat of the dry lump—or anyone else’s.

She reached the clearing and stopped. The ramshackle old cottage stood before her, swathed in shadow. A barely crescent moon gave little illumination...and yet, too much. She’d never considered how the two empty windows on each side of the doorway might take on the appearance of staring eyes and a mouth gaping in horror.

Fear tightened the muscles at the back of her throat, and swallowing didn’t help much. Would Howie come this far? They’d been here often, so he was familiar with this area, but it seemed over the top, even for the little attention-seeker.

A movement behind the house brought her to a stop. Just a fleeting shadow, but enough to drag a cold finger up her spine. Maybe an animal. Maybe her imagination. Or maybe the child...hurt...scared?

“Howie? Is that you?” She inched around the front corner of the house. “You can come out now. The game’s over.” A rustle in the woods brought her to attention and she flashed the beam that direction. She strained, but her eyes couldn’t discern anything beyond the edge of light. Keeping her palm pressed against the wall, she began to move again, hesitantly, toward the back of the house.

The glint of moonlight on metal stopped her shy of the back corner. A truck. Parked in the driveway. Painted in camouflage.

She smelled him before she felt him, a sickening mixture of body odor and whiskey with undertones of pot. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her feet froze to the spot. She gasped as a hand gripped her upper arm, jerking her around and shoving her back against the stone wall, making her drop the flashlight. The wire frame of one of her wings snapped. Its sharp point stabbed below her shoulder blade.

“You got tha’ right, bitch. Game’s over, sure as hell.”

His hot, rank breath bathed her face, along with a spray of spit. Her stomach convulsed, and she swallowed hard.

“Where’s my boy? Why you callin’ him?”

My boy? “Y-you’re Howie’s dad.”

“Tha’s right.” He nodded and the movement caused him to sway. His fingers tightened around her arm as he stumbled against her. “Is ’e lost? Wha’ve you done with ’im?”

She fought the urge to wince, her gut telling her that this guy preyed on weakness, used pain to intimidate.

He wasn’t a big man. Medium height and thin—skinny, actually. Wobbly on his feet. A hard shove might knock him down and give her a chance to run. But the grip on her arm might take her down with him. If he got her on the ground... She shuddered.

His head tilted, and his mouth curled into a sneer. “Where’s ’e? Th’ li’l bastard bet’r not’ve tol’ you ’bout our plan.”

He lowered his eyes until they were level with hers, and she could read the range of his emotions. Rage...fear...desperation. Of the three, the last was the most frightening. A desperate man was capable of anything. She had no chance against him, but Rick would. Rick could take him out with one swipe. Where was he? Had they found Howie yet? Surely Rick would come looking for her... If she could just stall.

Despite the stench, she took a deep breath, trying to control her trembling knees that kept threatening to buckle. “I don’t know anything about a plan. We were playing hide-and-seek.”

Howard Gerard’s voice settled into a menacing growl. “Don’t lie t’ me!” He jerked her away from the wall and threw her in the direction of the truck. She didn’t have time to pull her skirt up. Her feet caught in the hem, pitching her forward onto her knees. She struggled to get up, once again aware of a tight grip around her bicep, hauling her onto her feet. “Tell me where he’s at.”

“Don’t hurt her, Dad.” A timid voice drifted out of the darkness. “I’m here.” The vise around her arm dropped away as Howie crept slowly from the shadow of the opposite side of the house.

“Why’d you come early, boy?” The threat of a beating lay in the tone.

Howie’s shoulders absorbed his scrawny neck as he cowered, looking like a whipped puppy. “I wasn’t sure...wasn’t sure I could get past...past Mr. Kenny. I thought this’d be better. I knew you’d be here already.” His eyes darted toward Summer.

Was the lie as obvious to Howard Gerard as it was to her? Howie had been there all along...led them to his dad...waited, hoping...

“Git ’n the truck.”

The child moved quickly to obey.

Adrenaline shot through Summer’s veins. “He isn’t going anywhere with you!” She lunged at the man, catching his side with her shoulder like she’d seen football players tackle the opponent. His reaction time was stymied, giving her the advantage. She watched the ground coming up to meet them, felt the air forced from her lungs as they landed in a twisted heap.

Howard Gerard threw her off him with a roar, and she hit the ground a second time. She scrambled to rise, but the costume tangled around her legs, slowing her down. By the time she got squared on her feet, so had he.

He advanced on her, a bull seeing red, but she stood her ground. If she ran, Howie didn’t stand a chance.

“Nobody’s gonna keep m’ boy away from me, bitch.” His fingers dug into her arms, just below the shoulders, and he shook her so hard, her head bobbled as if her neck were a spring. He shouted, venting his frustration at the world. “You hear me? Nobody! Not m’ wife...not th’ law...not you!”

He held her upper arms tight against her sides, allowing no reach to her blind slaps, but she threw as many kicks as she dared, fighting to stay upright. And she screamed...over and over. “Run, Howie! Get help!”

One hand left her. Seizing the opportunity, she drew her free arm back, mustering all her strength into the intended punch. Before she could follow through, the back of his hand connected with her jaw. Her head snapped sideways and back with such force her body had no choice but to follow.

The ringing in her ears grew to a roar. The moon whirled above her in a sickening dance as she fell.

* * *

RICK BUSTED HIS ASS, TRYING TO catch up with Summer before she reached the Byassee place. This whole ordeal smacked of something that churned his insides. It felt too coincidental...too contrived.

As he neared the place where the path veered right, an off sound registered in his hearing. One that didn’t belong to the night. Faint, but definitely human voices. He kicked harder, and the sounds grew into shouts...angry tones. One he recognized.

Summer.

As he tore into the clearing, the sounds stopped abruptly. He slowed his movement to a guarded walk.

He listened. The house’s dark facade stood sentry, no hint of turmoil on its watch. Then a noise came from the back of the house. A slamming door.

Rick rushed toward the sound. As he rounded the corner of the house, the sight of Summer’s body sprawled on the ground ripped a combined cry of anger and anguish from his lungs. “Summer!”

She struggled to sit up as he bounded toward her. Shaking her head in protest, she pointed to the truck in the driveway. “Howie!”

Rick’s mind instantly processed the situation. A camouflaged truck. Howie’s dad. The engine started as Rick jerked open the door on the passenger’s side, and Howie flipped the latch to unhook his seat belt.

Rick hauled the child from the cab, scanning him quickly. He appeared unhurt. “Run, Howie.” Rick gave him a push. “Go back to camp.”

The child’s eyes widened with fear and hesitation. He stood frozen to the spot.

“Now!” Rick used his most menacing marine voice.

A cloud of dust rose in the boy’s wake.

Rick heard the truck’s gears shift into Park. He threw a glance toward Summer, who’d made it to her feet, albeit wobbly. That she could stand was a good sign.

He started around the back of the truck, but Summer took a step in the direction of the driver’s door. He moved in fast, blocking her. “Don’t.” He used the same tone he’d used with Howie, but not as loud.

Her chin snapped up in defiance.

In the meager light he saw it—a lump the size of an egg on her jaw, and his insides wound into a tight coil. Blinded by rage, he sprang toward the driver’s door, loaded for action, intent on tearing Howard Gerard apart with his bare hands.

The door swung open, and he gathered the son of a bitch’s shirt into his fists and hauled him past the steering column with one jerk.

Something wasn’t right about the man’s sneer, and Rick’s senses went on alert, but his body had the momentum of his weight behind it.

Too late he saw the flash...heard the pop.

A vacuum sucked his body in upon itself, bringing with it a pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He gasped and the very act of breathing caused him to lose his grip. He staggered backward, toppling, with no control of his movements, welcoming the feel of crashing onto solid ground.

Fireworks went off in his head, blinding his sight, but his sense of touch registered a hot, sticky wetness covering his hands.

He became aware of two distinct sounds piercing his brain. On one side, the roar of a truck engine being gunned.

On the other, screams of terror. Summer’s.

He cursed his idiocy. A marine didn’t make this kind of mistake.

Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake.

Maybe the bullet was meant for him all along...it just took seven years to find him.