I kept my body between the two of them, felt myself wedged and pressed between their grasping forms. Caitlin cried out for him, a plaintive wailing, and I felt Colter’s hot breath on the back of my neck, smelled the onions he had eaten for his dinner.
Then the pressure against my back eased. Colter fell to the ground and Buster stood over him. Then Buster dropped to his knees by Colter’s side, his fist going up and down like a piston while Colter squirmed beneath the blows.
“Enough,” I said. “Enough.”
I let go of Caitlin long enough to grab Buster’s arm, to stop his pummeling of Colter. When I had him pulled back and under control, I looked down.
Colter was still there, his face bloodied. Caitlin slipped past me and went to the ground, cradling his face in her hands.
“Oh, John,” she said. “John, did he hurt you?”
But Colter didn’t take his eyes off mine. He even smiled a little, his teeth stained with blood.
“Satisfied?” he said. “Is it over now?”
Caitlin’s eyes were full of tears, and she sniffled in the dark, her hand now resting on Colter’s arm.
I bent down a little, wrapped my hand around her wrist, and pulled her up.
“She’s coming with me.”
Caitlin gasped a little, but she didn’t resist as much as I’d thought she would.
“We had a deal,” Colter said. “A fucking deal.”
I pulled Caitlin toward the car, not looking back. I knew Buster was behind me, watching the rear, not letting Colter up off the ground.
“Let me go!” she said, pulling against me. But I kept my grip—loose enough not to hurt, tight enough that she couldn’t get away. I never should have brought her, I thought. I never should have exposed her to Colter again. It was over. We were going home.
“No,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”
The wailing began again, but this time it was more distant, more sustained.
I looked out to the main road. The blue and red lights strobed, approached the cemetery, and turned in. I looked at Buster, and he shrugged.
“Abby?” I said. “She called them?”
He shrugged again.
Colter pushed himself to his feet. The police cars were coming toward us, blocking the way for our vehicles. There was only one way out, and he took it. He didn’t even look back. He turned and ran into the cemetery, into the darkness, past Caitlin’s headstone and into the darkening night.
“John!” she shouted.
Caitlin tugged against me, but I held on.
I wasn’t going to let go.
Epilogue
Weeks later, I return to the park with Caitlin.
It’s early December. The leaves are all stripped from the trees, and the first frost has already come and gone.
It was Abby who’d called the police that night.
It took her a while to think of it, but she, like Buster, knew me well enough to know the spot I’d pick for a meeting with Colter.
The police arrested John Colter in the cemetery as soon as they arrived. He’d had nowhere to run, and they found him crouched behind a mausoleum. He had slipped in the wet grass and twisted his ankle, making his escape all but impossible. As Ryan had promised, new indictments were handed down against Colter, charging him with the kidnapping and sexual assault of Caitlin. In the wake of his intention to flee the area, his bail was revoked and he remains in custody at the county jail awaiting a trial in the spring.
Whenever I ask Ryan about the possibility of a conviction, he hedges his bets and reminds me that sometimes plea deals have to be struck, especially when eyewitness and forensic evidence remains slim. Caitlin refuses to testify or admit anything, and I try my best to believe that John Colter no longer exists.
The murder of Tracy Fairlawn remains unsolved, although it is widely suspected she was killed by John Colter. Murder charges may still be forthcoming against him.
Jasmine, the cemetery girl, has never been found. Ryan suspects she’s a runaway, and it seems little effort is being expended on tracking her down.
For a while after Colter’s arrest, I found myself in trouble with the prosecutor’s office. They were displeased with my actions on those nights, and they contemplated pressing charges against me. Obstruction. Witness tampering. Assault. In the end, they did nothing but scare me. When news of the arrest reached the public, popular sentiment turned my way, and the prosecutor’s office, facing an election year, decided against continuing their pursuit of the father of a kidnapped and confused child.
My family was not so forgiving. It took less than forty-eight hours for Abby to move out—taking Caitlin with her. They made temporary quarters in dormitory-style housing at Pastor Chris’s church. Abby has filed for divorce, which I have no plans to contest, but I see Caitlin just about whenever I want, especially on weekends.