Town Darling (7 page)

Casey suddenly silenced. 
“I thought you were asleep,” she muttered softly.  She didn’t exactly hate
Deputy Holt, but it seemed as if they were always at each other’s throats. 
Casey was sure her mother couldn’t be right.  She had been nice to him in the
past, but it didn’t alter the way he treated her.  Perhaps she should use her
confinement to ask the question finally.  “Why do you have it out for me?”

“I don’t have it out for
you,” he announced simply.  “You’re a spoiled little girl who gets coddled when
what she really needs is a good spanking.”

His words floored her,
causing her to turn slightly on her hip and stare at his profile.  His face was
only inches from hers through the partition.  Since when was she a spoiled,
little girl?  Melanie was spoiled.  She found his comment insulting but quickly
masked her hostility. 

“Huh?  Okay,” she remarked
gently.  “You wanting to spank me is a little disturbing.”

Vaughn glared his
disapproval at her through the partition.  She stared into his eyes a moment
and suddenly felt uncomfortable being that close to him.  She’d never actually
looked into his eyes before.  She’d never seen such dark eyes.  Casey looked
away, moved to the seat, and faced forward.  Vaughn sat up as well.  She was
getting tired, and playing games with Deputy Holt was unsatisfying. 

“What time is it?” she
asked with a weary sigh.

“Almost one.”

Casey groaned softly and
rolled her eyes.  It was ridiculous that he had kept her there so long.  There
were laws against kidnapping, although she wasn’t sure if they applied to
Darwood Falls’ finest.  Deputy Holt seemed to enjoy making up his own rules. 
She remained uncomfortable and still felt his eyes upon her.  She glanced at
him.  He was staring at her through the rearview mirror with those dark eyes. 
She felt her entire body tense and shifted with discomfort. 

“Grey will be home a little
after two.  If he gets home and I’m not there, he’s going to call Sheriff
Wiley.”

“I don’t care what you tell
Sheriff Wiley.”

Casey placed her bare feet
against the mesh divider, played with the grates with her toes, and frowned
while staring out the side window into the darkness.  Vaughn continued to study
her through the mirror.  She was feeling particularly self-conscious now.  She
wished he’d stop staring at her.

“I don’t intend to tell him
anything.  I wouldn’t want to get you fired,” Casey said gently.  “You’re
probably the only honest cop in this messed up town.  I hit you, and you had
every right to be mad.  Sheriff Wiley shouldn’t berate you for doing your job.”

There was an odd silence. 
Vaughn straightened in his seat and started the blazer.

“I should get you home.”

Casey quickly sat up with
renewed enthusiasm.  She was surprised by his sudden change of mind.  Had he
waited all that time for an apology?  She had said she was sorry right after
she hit him.  It didn’t make sense.  She decided not to overthink it.  It was
late, and she was tired.

“Can you take me back for
my horse?”

“Your brother was told to
take your horse home,” he informed her.

“He doesn’t ride in the
dark.  There was that whole bat incident--”

Vaughn groaned with
disgust.  “Fine, but I’m driving by your place to make sure you went directly
home,” he remarked sternly and again looked at her through the mirror with his
dark eyes.

“If I’m not there, you have
my permission to spank me,” she teased.

Vaughn appeared stunned
while staring at her through the mirror.  She caught his look and chuckled
softly.  She was proud of herself; she’d rendered the Boy Scout speechless.

†

I
t was almost 1:30 A.M. when
Grey’s car pulled up to the Remington farmhouse.  He was almost an hour earlier
than usual, since the barroom brawl shut them down early.  There was a light on
at the house and one above the barn.  Grey got out of his car looking nearly
exhausted and slightly battered from his impromptu bout with Blain Harford.  He
glanced at the barn as he headed for the house and suddenly stopped.  Casey’s
horse wasn’t in the pasture with the others.  If her horse had been outside the
tavern, he hadn’t seen it.  If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t actually
looked.  He appeared curious as he stared then frowned and shook his head.

“You’d better believe
Sheriff Wiley’s going to hear about this,” Grey scoffed then headed for the
house.

He unlocked the door and
entered with disgust.  The kitchen was dimly lit by the light above the stove,
which his mother usually left on for him upon returning late at night.  He
heard his parents’ moving around in their room upstairs.  It seemed odd that
they would be up so late.  They were used to his late hours at the tavern and
never waited up anymore.  Perhaps his father realized Casey never made it
home.  As long as his father was up, there was no reason not to share another
story of corrupt law enforcement with him.  His father would also cause more of
a commotion with Deputy Holt not returning Casey immediately following Sheriff
Wiley’s orders.  A thought suddenly occurred to Grey.  What if Deputy Holt did
something to Casey?  Vaughn Holt had always been the quiet one.  It was those
quiet ones who often caused the most trouble.  Grey was suddenly concerned for
Casey.  He needed to alert his father more now than ever.  He needed to make
sure his sister was okay.  He was about to head up the back, kitchen stairs,
when he heard his father coming down the living room stairs.  Grey hurried
across the kitchen for the living room.

I
t was almost 1:45 A.M. by
the time Casey rode her horse up the long, gravel driveway to the farmhouse. 
She had been on autopilot nearly the entire ride home.  Storm knew the way to
the farm.  Horses could always find their way home.  She dismounted near the
barn, wearily unsaddled her horse, and turned him loose into the paddock. 
After returning her saddle to the tack room within the barn, she headed toward
the house.  She couldn’t believe how exhausted she was from doing nothing all
night.  Grey’s car was parked out front.  She was a little surprised he was
home early, but it probably had something to do with the brawl.  Thankfully,
Grey had left the light on for her.  She didn’t doubt he was sitting up waiting
for her.  Despite their differences, Grey could be a little protective over
her.  With corruption in their town, his protectiveness wasn’t surprising. 
Casey entered the dimly lit kitchen and found it odd that there were no other
lights on.  Maybe Grey hadn’t waited up for her after all.  It actually didn’t
bother her; she was too tired to get into the entire Deputy Holt debate with
him tonight anyway. 

She had been heading for
the backstairs, when she heard a faint thump from the living room.  Casey
paused by the kitchen steps, looked to the living room archway, and appeared
bewildered.  Maybe Grey had waited up for her after all.  She debated just
heading to bed to avoid the long debate that was sure to follow, but thought
better of it.  He would undoubtedly enter her room, once again without
permission, and just disturb her sleep anyway.  It was best just to get it out
of the way now.  She headed across the kitchen and entered the dimly lit living
room.  Casey suddenly stopped.  Grey lie on the floor and was covered in
blood.  She gasped with horror and ran toward him.  He weakly lifted his head
and saw her as she approached.

“Casey,” he suddenly
gasped.  “Run!”

Casey slid to a stop
halfway to him, spun around, and came face-to-face with a masked intruder
holding a large hunting knife.  As the intruder raised the knife, Casey
screamed and impulsively thrust her palms into his chest, shoving him away from
her.  The knife slashed her forearm as he stumbled backwards.  Casey felt the
sting but was almost unaware of her injury as she darted past him.  She ran
across the kitchen and up the backstairs rather than out the front door.  The
intruder chased after her and was only a few feet behind.  She grabbed a photo
from the wall, spun, and struck him with it.  The glass shattered against his
elbow as he shielded his head.  She then planted her foot into his shoulder
from her elevated position on the stairs above him, and shoved him down the
stairs.  He stumbled down a few steps but caught his balance.  Casey continued
up the stairs with a greater head start now.  She bolted into the dark master
bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it.  She turned while out of breath
toward her parents’ bed.

“Dad!  Someone’s in the
house!”

There was no response. 
Fear swept over her as she flipped the light switch on the wall next to the
door.  Her mother and father were lying partially beneath the blood-soaked
covers.  Her father appeared to have been stabbed in his sleep with a single
stab wound to his neck.  Her mother had obviously tried to defend herself,
indicated by the cuts to her hands and arms, and was half off the bed.  Casey
stared at her butchered parents while frozen with fear.  For a moment, it
didn’t seem real.  There was a thump against the door, jolting her out of her
daze.  She ran toward the bed and grabbed the bedside phone near her slain
father.  There was no dial tone.  She cried out while tossing the phone aside
then hesitated only a moment before removing a key from the bedside drawer. 
She ran for the nearby gun cabinet.  The door vibrated again.  Casey fumbled
with the key in trembling hands and unlocked the cabinet as the bedroom
doorframe suddenly splintered.  She removed a double-barrel shotgun as the door
flew open, turned toward the door, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger. 

The intruder saw the
shotgun and dove out of the room as buckshot from both barrels exploded the
door.  Casey tossed the shotgun aside and grabbed the .357 Magnum revolver. 
Her mind had momentarily shut down and she intended to shoot the first thing
that moved.  When nothing moved, she uncertainly approached the shattered door
and steadied the massive gun as it trembled in her hands.  There was no one
there.  She could barely control her heavy breathing as she stepped into the
dimly lit hallway.  She looked both directions while steadying the gun then
hurried along the hall with her back to the wall.  She only paused once before
her darkened, open bedroom door to peer inside.  The sheer curtains fluttered
inward from a breeze blowing through the open window.  Nothing else moved
within the darkened room.  She hurried past her bedroom and for the back,
kitchen stairs while attempting to make as little sound as possible. 

Casey appeared on the
backstairs with the gun leveled and her back to the wall.  The dimly lit
kitchen was empty and nothing moved.  She looked at the closed kitchen door
with the fear evident on her face.  She considered her options only once and
darted to the cupboard beneath the sink.  She removed a first aid kit and hurried
for the living room.  She paused within the archway to the living room, looked
around for signs of the intruder, and then hurried to Grey’s side.  She set
down the large gun and fumbled through the medical kit.

“I’m here.  It’s okay,” she
said softly to him.

Grey’s eyes were shut and
he didn’t move.  Casey stared at him with alarm as panic swept over her.

“Grey?”

He didn’t respond. 
Unbeknownst to her, the intruder crept down the main stairs behind her.  He
made his way quietly down the steps and approached her from behind with the
bloody knife clutched in his hand.  Although barely noticeable, the faint sound
of his leather gloves gripping the knife sounded like a freight train to
Casey.  Casey suddenly grabbed the gun from the floor alongside her, spun on
her hip, and fired wildly at the stairs.  The startled intruder leapt behind
her father’s lounge chair for shelter.  Casey stood up, showed no emotion, and
fired several shots into the chair.  The .357 shells exploded through the chair
and one or two shattered the window behind it.  The gun clicked empty several
times as she continued to squeeze the trigger.  She finally gasped and returned
from her rage-induced trance.  Casey stared at the shredded chair with multiple
bullet holes through it.  There was no sound or movement.  She had gotten him! 
She took a step toward the torn chair.  The intruder suddenly leapt out from
behind the chair and tackled her to the floor just past Grey’s motionless
body.  Casey screamed and held back the knife.  He grabbed her throat to subdue
her.  She rammed her knee into his inner thigh, narrowly missing her intended
target, and jolted him enough to loosen his grip on her throat.  Having
momentarily stunned him, she scrambled to her feet and ran into the kitchen.

Casey ran from the house,
leaping the four steps from the porch, and raced for the barn with the intruder
only a few yards behind her.  All the horses were immediately alerted and
watched from the pasture.  Casey reached the gate and attempted to unlatch it
as Storm snorted loudly in panic from several feet away.  The intruder roughly
tackled Casey to the ground, and they rolled several times.  She ended up on
top and punched him in his masked face.  As she attempted to leap off him, he
grabbed her foot and pulled her to her hands and knees.  Storm snorted, pinned
his ears, and reared up in the paddock.  Casey looked at the intruder on the
ground behind her holding her ankle and kicked him in the shoulder.  She jumped
to her feet and again ran for the gate.  Storm bolted back and forth before the
gate with his head high while snorting loudly.  The intruder tackled her
roughly into the gate, vibrating it with a loud clatter.  Storm’s ears were
pinned back and his nostrils wrinkled as his teeth bared.  Her horse had never
shown such aggression before.  As the horse lunged forward, the intruder slung
Casey roughly to the ground and narrowly avoided the horse’s teeth.  Casey
rolled several times across the ground.  She appeared disoriented as she slowly
moved to her hands and knees.  The man dressed entirely in black approached and
kicked her in her side.  Casey gasped, clutched her ribs, and nearly fell the
rest of the way to the ground. 

Storm continued to snort
loudly and bolted past the fence.  The intruder grabbed Casey’s hair and pulled
her to her knees.  She gasped painfully and looked at the man now standing over
her.  The sound of thundering hoof beats was all Casey heard.  As she looked at
the fence, the massive gray horse majestically jumped the tall gate and charged
for them.  The intruder saw the charging horse, gasped, and released Casey. 
Storm sideswiped the man with his shoulder and knocked him to the ground while
sliding to a skidding stop.  The horse pivoted on his hindquarters to face the
man on the ground, pinned his ears, squealed loudly, and reared up over the
fallen man.  The alarmed intruder rolled out of the path of the thrashing
hooves as they violently and repeatedly struck the ground in a purposeful
attempt to crush him.  Her horse had come to her defense, something Casey never
would have imagined if she hadn’t seen if for herself. 

Casey ran for Storm,
steadied him as he danced in place, and easily swung onto him bareback.  The
intruder sprang to his feet as Casey sent the horse into a gallop.  The
intruder slashed his knife as they passed, slicing Casey’s leg and the horse’s
hindquarters.  Storm popped into a buck, thrashed his hind leg in response to
the pain, and suddenly reared up, causing Casey to topple off his back.  Storm
raced down the driveway as blood ran down his leg from the gash.  Casey
appeared dazed while slowly moving to her hands and knees and watched the horse
disappear down the driveway.  Her attacker punched her on the side of the
head.  Casey collapsed to the ground and appeared to be out cold.  He slung her
over his shoulder and carried her back to the house.

†

I
t was a little after two
o’clock in the morning.  The police blazer drove along the dark back road past
thick woods and large fields.  It was a peaceful, quiet night with just enough
humidity to bring about a storm closer to morning.  The massive gray horse
suddenly galloped onto the paved road in front of the blazer.  The police
blazer slammed on its brakes and skidded with a loud squeal.  The horse reared
up in the middle of the road directly in front of the vehicle with blood
streaking its hind leg then bolted across the road and continued into the
nearby field.

†

T
he masked attacker carried
the motionless Casey into the kitchen and tossed her onto the table.  She
slowly woke with a look of disorientation.  He placed the knife to her throat
and grabbed for her jeans.  Casey suddenly became alert, gasped with horror,
and kicked him in the thigh.  She once again missed her intended target.  He
was thrown backwards all the same, allowing her to leap off the table, and run
for the backstairs.  The killer knocked her forward into the island counter,
spun her to face him, and grabbed her throat.  Casey clutched his wrist while
she gasped for air.  He moved the knife to her pants and attempted to cut off
her jeans.  With every ounce of strength she had, she punched him in the face. 
He suddenly thrust the knife into her lower abdomen.  Casey gasped from the
sharp, excruciating pain of the knife piercing her body and stared into the
killer’s eyes.  The front door suddenly burst open to reveal Deputy Holt with
his gun aimed.

“Police!  Freeze!”

The intruder turned toward
Vaughn with the knife dripping blood still in his hand.  He slowly raised his
hands preparing to surrender.  Casey’s knees buckled and she sank while
clutching the counter and her bleeding abdomen.  Vaughn saw Casey clinging to
the counter with her blood-soaked hands and appeared horrified.  His look
suddenly hardened.  He straightened, turned toward the killer, and, without
flinching, shot him three times in the chest.  The intruder flew backwards
through the archway and into the dining room.  Vaughn appeared alarmed and ran
for Casey.  She looked at him with an almost blank expression, gasped
painfully, and sank.  Vaughn caught her while staring into her eyes with
horror, lowered her to the floor, and immediately applied pressure to her lower
abdomen while holding her.  Casey clutched his neck with her bloodied hands and
sobbed.

“He killed them!  They’re
all dead!”

Vaughn stared into her eyes
with his mouth hanging open in apparent shock.  He fumbled for his words.  “An
ambulance is coming,” he finally gasped.  “Just stay with me, okay?”

Casey clung to him, buried
her face into his neck, and fell silent.  Her blood-covered hand slowly fell
down his chest.  Vaughn tensed with horror while staring at the motionless
woman in his arms.

“Casey?  Don’t you dare
die!” he gasped.  Tears streaked his face.  “Don’t do this to me!  Please,
Casey, stay with me!”

She didn’t respond; just
remained limp in his arms.  Vaughn held Casey’s head to his neck and sobbed
softly.

†

L
ess than thirty minutes had
passed, although it seemed longer, before the paramedics raced Casey out of the
kitchen on a stretcher.  She was completely white and appeared lifeless,
although the actions of the paramedics suggested she was still clinging to
life.  Sheriff Wiley stood alongside Vaughn, who leaned his back against the
bloody island counter and stared blankly at the large amount of blood on the floor. 
His arms, neck, shirt, and pants were also covered in Casey’s blood.  Vaughn
uncertainly looked at the blood on his hands and started to tremble.  Wiley
placed his hand on Vaughn’s shoulder.  Vaughn didn’t even seem to realize he
was standing alongside him.