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Chapter Thirty
John Madison couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw his precious granddaughter move from behind the body of the big man who’d opened the door.
“Charli? Charli! Damn, girl, it’s good to see you.” He reached for her, his arms shaking with relief. Tears had gathered, and before he knew they would spill, his face became drenched, and his whole body shuddered from the reaction of seeing her in person. Something he’d thought might never happen.
After watching the murderer at work earlier, he’d given up hope of surviving himself. Unable to move for fear he’d be shot, he’d used the set of binoculars he’d bought that morning and witnessed the victim fighting for her life, and then being overwhelmed by the larger man with the gun.
For seconds, John thought she would win, but the gun made the difference. While the animal worked her over as if he demanded answers to questions, John thought to get help. He used that moment to slide away but for some reason, he turned back just in time to see her being shot.
Dropping his binoculars, he half-ran, half-stumbled along as fast as his poor old body could handle in the direction of the neighbor’s house up the beach.
Out of breath, he stopped, leaned against a post and reached into his pocket for the new cellphone he’d bought that morning. Son of a gun. He couldn’t make it work. His old phone, he had no trouble with anymore, but this newfangled piece of shit, he couldn’t even remember how to get to the phone section.
Grumbling, more angry and frustrated with his own shortcomings than usual, he made it to the closest house and pounded on their door, all to no avail. The place was locked – shut tighter than spinster Harriet’s mouth was after seeing a half-naked man on the cover of a sport’s magazine.
His breath coming in gasps, afraid of having a heart attack, considering his old pump thudded away in his chest with shooting pains to remind him of his age, he searched for a place to hide, to gather his strength… to think.
A pergola, nestled inside a garden of winding, colorful blooms, appeared out of the darkness, and he made his way there. With his legs finally giving out, John slid to the floor and rested. Sick to his stomach because of the overwhelming relief he’d felt that the young lady hadn’t been his precious Charli, and angry for not having a weapon he could have used to protect her, he covered his face and let the tears flow.
Never, in all his years, had he felt quite so useless, so ashamed, and thankful all at the same time.
