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Cecil slung a curse and a sick promise, but she didn’t let it slow her pace. She reached the tree house, slid across the floor and onto the rickety rungs that had been individually nailed to the tree.
Making her descent, she glanced up. Cecil stood with malevolence in his eyes. She continued descending. Her foot slid off the wet rung, and she shrieked and grasped onto the rung above her, her nail bending back with a sharp pain.
He’d catch her now.
But he was gone when she looked above.
Her heart leapt in her throat.
Did he know a way down she didn’t? Was he waiting below to get the jump on her? Heart pounding and hands trembling, she paused. Did she go back up? She was less than halfway down.
Before she made her choice, a raucous cry broke through her confusion, and before she glanced upward, she felt something hard and rough and wet. With great force, it rammed her face. She lost her grip. Writhing and grasping at anything to anchor her back to the tree, she continued to fall backward, meeting nothing but air.
As she free-fell, Cecil stood with a large plank of wood from the tree house, sinister eyes drilling into hers.
Screaming registered in her ears.
It was her own.
Then she saw and heard nothing.
Monday, October 23
10:03 p.m.
John groaned and touched the back of his head; it was wet and sticky. Blood and rainwater.
Rainwater.
Violet!
How long had he been lying here? As he’d come around the corner, he’d been blindsided, bashed in the head. Once. Twice. Cecil must have thought he’d killed him. He felt dead. He struggled to his hands and knees. A severe bout of nausea hit him, and his mouth watered. His skin broke out in a sweat, but the rain slicked over it in cool streams.
Propping himself up against the wall of the cabin, he inhaled deeply when a hand grasped him from behind. He reared back to attack and heard a woman’s voice.
“Help!”
Not Violet.
Bella Dawn.
“He’s gonna kill her. He pushed her out of the tree house.”
John’s heart lurched into his throat. Bella Dawn’s condition was severe, and the best way to protect her was to get her out of here. Then he could find Violet. “Can you get to the road?”
She nodded.
“I have no signal. Here are my keys and phone. Take the car, and when you get a signal, call the police and the ambulance then drive to the emergency clinic. Ask for Agent Tiberius Granger. He might still be there. Can you do that? Repeat it back to me.”
She repeated his instructions nearly verbatim.
“Good.” She had her faculties. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Be brave. You can do this. Go! Hurry!” She bolted from the cabin toward the path, and he ran the opposite direction toward the tree house, praying he would make it in time.
Ahead, a shadowed figure straddled Violet. “Police!” he called, and the figure hauled it into the woods. He gave chase, his shoes sinking in mud with each step. He paused and knelt by Violet, feeling for a pulse.
Thank God! She had one. “Help’s coming. Hold on,” he breathed and followed who he assumed to be Cecil into the woods. Unable to see and not having knowledge of the terrain, John feared Cecil had the upper hand. The rain canceled out noise, and he knew the chase was useless. Retreating, he returned to Violet.
“Violet, can you hear me?” He softly patted her cheek, then began checking for injuries. She had a small cut on the side of her head, facial abrasions and nicks along her hands, probably from falling. He wasn’t sure if anything had been broken or not. Her eyes fluttered open.
