Deadly Decision (27 page)

“Just like they've done their job finding your grandson?”

I winced. Why did I insist on hurting this woman? She did not deserve the brunt of my anger. “Sandra. I'm sorry.” I took her in my arms and held her, needing her comfort as much as I hoped she needed mine.

My body stiffened. I dropped my arms.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“I see him,” I gasped. “He's standing beside the old desk.”

Sandra turned toward the desk. “See who?”

“What are you doing here?” I choked out. “What do you want from me?”

I was seeing him again, and I still didn't know if he was from God or Satan. After all the discussions with Pastor Steve, and all the prayers, I still didn't know. Now he was standing in this room, right here, with me.

“Bill, who are you talking to?”

The second ghost boy started to walk. He moved through the opening into the kitchen and was gone from view.

I grabbed Sandra's hand and followed him. Before we got to the kitchen doorway, I pushed Sandra behind me, unsure what to expect. The ghost might come roaring at me in anger, transform himself into a lion, or laugh that horrible manic sound Barbara had made. Most likely, he would be gone.

“Bill, what's going on?”

“The second ghost boy,” I hissed. “He's here, and he seems to want us to follow him.”

Sandra, bless her, didn't question my sanity, although she must have wondered.

From the kitchen, the ghost boy led us into the scrubby overgrown yard. Rottweilers, chained in the back, howled and strained against their restraints. I wanted to see if the dog collars were the same as the one on Jimmy, but I refused to let my eyes leave the ghost boy for even a second.

He walked to the dogs. The three Rottweilers sniffed at the ghost boy, either seeing or sensing him. Amazed, I watched as he petted each dog in turn. The dogs calmed and sat on their haunches, panting and content.

“Look at the dogs, Bill. They're acting strange.”

“Shhh.”

Turning from the dogs, the ghost boy walked toward an outbuilding, the typical metal storage shed found in most South Carolina backyards. This one looked new.

He stopped about five feet from the shed, then turned and looked at me.

“What's happening?” Sandra whispered. “Do you still see him?”

“He's by the shed.”

The ghost boy looked back and forth from the shed to me.

Understanding dawned. “We need to get into the shed!” I shouted. “Help me find something we can use to smash open the lock!”

Thrashing apart weeds, I looked for anything solid: a sturdy stick, a piece of abandoned block. “Help us,” I pleaded to the ghost boy.

I almost didn't hear the soft plop over the booming of my own heart.

Looking down, I saw a key.

I grabbed the key off the ground and tried to shove it into the lock.

“It doesn't fit,” I yelled.

“Give it to me.” Sandra pried the key out of my hand and slid it into the opening. My hands shook as I tore off the lock and slid open the doors.

The stench of urine and feces momentarily choked me. Shaking off the overwhelming odor, I looked around.

Light filtered in through the open doors, pushing the darkness to the back of the metal building. Enough light filtered in to allow me to see the expected cans, rags, rakes, lawn mower, and hoses. “She's not here,” I screamed. “Trina!”

Sandra tried to push around me, but I held her back.
There has to be something here the ghost boy wants me to find.

A muffled sound from the back caught my attention. Sitting on the floor, with her back against a ladder and duct tape over her mouth, Trina's huge eyes pleaded for help. Leaping over cans and stumbling through rakes, I reached her, and attempted to pull her into my arms. As though she were glued to the floor, her body refused to budge. Looking down, I saw her arms were taped behind the ladder. Deep sobs swelled out of my chest. Trina thrashed her bound legs, fighting me as I attempted to get close to her. Wild eyes flashed.

“Honey, it's all right. It's over. You're safe.”

She shook her head, her eyes filled with fear and urgency.

“Let me hold her head,” Sandra said. “You get the tape off her mouth.” She turned to Trina. “You're safe honey.”

Trina refused to allow Sandra to touch her. She continued to jerk her head sideways, almost butting it against her right shoulder, as though she had a severe twitch.

“No one can hurt you now,” I murmured. “Mitch and Jack are both at the hospital. Jack's in police custody. He'll never get near you again, I promise.”

A groan escaped from Sandra. Looking in the direction of her stare, off to the side I saw one slender arm, bent at odd angles, protruding out of a crumpled blanket. She had only taken a couple of steps when I grabbed her arm.

Holding Sandra tight, I glanced at Trina. Tears ran down her quiet face.

As Sandra tried to pull away, I wrapped my arms more tightly around her. The more she struggled, the tighter I held her.

“Let me go first,” I pleaded. She stilled in my arms, but I could feel the tightness of her muscles and her erratic heartbeat.

After reaching the heap of blanket, I lifted one corner and saw Jimmy's face. My heart squeezed until I thought it could no longer pump. Air stuck in my throat.

The boy appeared to be little more than skin over skull. Gagging back the acid that had risen in my throat, I hesitantly touched his forehead. His skin was warm.

I sucked in air and my foundering heart came to life. I felt for a pulse. “He's alive!” I reached shaking fingers toward his neck, trying to avoid the inflamed and oozing wound that surrounded it.

“I can feel a pulse.” The pulse was faint, but there.

Sandra flew over the piles of trash that separated us.

“Jimmy!” She scooped up her unresponsive grandson and held him to her chest.

Looking at his inert form, I wondered if I had felt the last struggling heartbeat.

“Call an ambulance,” Sandra cried. “Hurry!”

I reached into my pocket for my cellphone. It wasn't there. I didn't have my cellphone! In my haste to dress after Ted woke me, I hadn't picked it up off the dresser.

I plowed across the shed to Trina. “Honey, I'll be right back.” I leaned over her. “Will you be all right?”

As I brushed a piece of hair off her forehead, she leaned her head into my hand. Two tears slid down her cheeks.

Darting my eyes around for the ghost boy, I didn't see him. He had done his job, and was gone.

I ran to the house and looked for a phone.
Use your head, man! Who has a house phone anymore? Look for a cellphone.

Diving into the discarded clothing, I felt for any hard object. I searched both bedrooms, and ransacked the sparsely furnished living room. Tripping over the rail Sandra had used on Jack, I smashed my nose into the floor again. Blood dripped down my face.

I have to get to a phone!

I sprinted up the alley toward the square. The first occupied place I came to was Danner Drug Store. Breathless, bloody, and sweating, I stumbled inside.

“Call 911!” I voiced between panting breaths. “It's an emergency. Little Jimmy Roberts, we found him.”

“You found Jimmy? Where?” The clerk was already punching her cellphone.

Still bent over, sucking in air, I pointed down the road.

“New Street?” she asked.

I nodded in affirmation. “Shed in the backyard.”

She repeated the information into the phone.

A screaming patrol car passed me before I was half way back.

Lord, don't let him die before they get there.

 

 

 

 

32

 

By the time I got to the house, Jimmy had been removed from the shed and was lying on a gurney. Sandra cradled his limp hand. A police cruiser skidded into the yard beside me, joining the emergency squad and the cruiser that were already there.

Since there was an oxygen mask over the boy's face, I assumed he was alive, at least for the moment. I ached to comfort Sandra, but my concern was for my daughter.

I could smell the urine before I got to the shed, but this time it angered me rather than sickened me. Only someone without any human warmth could leave a child to die in his own waste. Clenching my fists together, I wished I were at the hospital. When Jack woke up, would he roar and wail as Barbara had in the attic? Maybe I should have warned the paramedics. But would they have believed me?

Someone was in the shed with Trina; it was a police officer. The tape was already off her face, but it had taken the skin with it. Drops of blood had formed on her lips. Now the officer was working on freeing her ankles.

I stumbled through the trash toward her.

“Dad, they called Ted.” Her voice was raspy, and I gritted my teeth against the hate that gushed within me.

The officer turned, and smiled.

“Studler. I should have known.”

“I was on my way to the hospital, but turned around when the call came in.”

“Did he hurt you?” I gave Trina a hug then worked on the tape that secured her arms to the ladder.

Once released, Trina winced as she moved her arms stiffly in front of her.

Doors banged, and I glanced out into the yard. A second emergency unit and the third police cruiser had arrived.

“Can you walk?” Officer Studler asked. “I can carry you.”

“I can carry her,” I replied.

“No one is going to carry me. I need to see Jimmy. Just help me get up.”

With me on one side and the ever present Officer Studler on the other, Trina struggled to her feet. She self-consciously rearranged her tee shirt and shorts.

“You don't have on any shoes,” I blurted out.

Trina was already picking her way through the shed, and before I could grab her, she half stumbling, half sprinted across the yard toward Jimmy.

Shouldering her way past the paramedics, she gripped Jimmy's arm. I could see her talking to him, even though he didn't appear to hear. Intravenous fluid was running into his body, and the oxygen mask covered most of his face. The raw and oozing neck I had seen in the shed was now swaddled in a white bandage. After a few moments, the paramedics gently removed Trina and loaded the cart with the boy into the back of the ambulance. Sandra turned and looked my way as she climbed in beside him. It would take an act of God to keep Sandra away from Jimmy.

The paramedics led Trina to a second gurney. I positioned myself a respectful distance as the paramedics examined her. Officer Studler stood with me.

A car roared into the yard. Ted was out the driver's door before the engine completely died. “Trina!”

He enveloped his wife in his long arms. Wiping tears from his face, he moved to the side, still clutching Trina's hand with both of his.

One of the paramedics walked our way and addressed Officer Studler. “Do you need anything from her before we head out?”

Acid burned my throat. “You aren't taking her where they took Jack, are you?”

“It's the closest hospital.”

“You can't take her there! Don't you understand? Jack tried to kill her. By now he's probably awake—he'll try to finish what he started.”

Both men were staring at me, but it was Officer Studler who spoke. “Mr. Iver, trust me. Every police officer off duty has called in and volunteered to work. You don't believe this, but we care about your daughter and Jimmy Roberts. There are more officers in that hospital right now than there are doctors.”

He grinned at his own joke, and some of the tightness in my chest released. “Take her where she can get the best care.”

I looked over at Trina, propped up on the gurney with Ted still clinging to her hand. Two other paramedics stood, waiting.

“Nothing will happen to her,” Officer Studler repeated.

For once, I believed him.

The paramedics wheeled Tina toward the back of the ambulance.

Ted jogged over. “I'm going with Trina. I'll follow in my car.”

“Should I come too?”

“No, it's OK.” He turned and smiled at his wife. “I'll take care of her now.”

His voice choked as he turned back to me. “Trina told me you found her. I don't know how… I should have…”

I squeezed the young man's shoulder. “Take her to the hospital, and keep her safe. We'll talk later.”

The yard looked like a war zone, with officials taping, photographing and measuring.

Officer Studler clapped me on the back. “I have to give you credit. When you set out to do something, you get it done. How on earth did you find them?”

How on earth? Officer Studler was looking on earth for the solution, and it wasn't there.

After searching for weeks for a meaning to my experience in the attic, and not finding one, I finally had resolution.

My ghost boys were from God. Visions or real, I didn't know and it really didn't matter. God had sent them to me so I could help bring Jimmy home. I looked around the yard again, knowing it was in vain, but doing it anyway. The ghost boy was gone. I probably would never get to thank him for leading me to Trina and Jimmy.

“You know, Studler's an unusual name.” I tried not to snicker.

“You wouldn't believe the teasing I got at school. And I was the shortest kid in my class until my senior year. The bullies made the most of it, but it made me tough.”

Officer Studler and I finished our fifth interview just as the dog warden arrived to take the Rottweilers to the animal shelter.

Maybe there was more to Officer Studler than I thought. “I'm really sorry I gave you such a hard time the first dozen times we met.”

“You're an all-right guy, for an old man.” He chuckled as he headed toward the snarling dogs.

I was alone and unneeded.

 

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