You Can't Escape (45 page)

“You think she had the curse.” He said it as a statement, eyes glued to the road.

“Well, there’s something that runs through the Benchley family,” he admitted reluctantly. “Emily showed symptoms. It was heartbreaking.”

“Emily was a Benchley?” he asked in surprise.

“Jordanna hasn’t told you?”

“I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her.”

Briefly, the doctor explained the history surrounding his eldest daughter and Dance realized what Jordanna had been processing when she’d returned from her aunt’s and sounded so unhappy.

“I thought Dutton was good for her. He took her to church. They were friends, not lovers,” Dayton said. “At least that’s what I thought.”

“And now he has Jordanna.”
And what did he do with Kara?

“I hope I’m wrong about this,” the older man said tautly, but the look on his face said he didn’t believe it for a minute.

Dance concentrated on the road. Ten more minutes. It couldn’t be more than that.

“Wake up,” he growled in her ear. He slapped her cheek. “Wake up. Your lover’s not here, so quit calling his name! WAKE UP.”

He was shouting in her face when she came to, but this time it was easier to pretend she was still out. She was covered in mud, as was he. He’d tossed her down where she’d been before but hadn’t tied her up again. He was shaking her like a rag doll, her head flopping loosely on her neck. He threw her down in disgust.

And then there was crying. Was Boo back? Or, was it an elaborate ruse on Buddy’s part?

She kept her eyes closed, not daring to crack them open this time.

“Old man Calverson hurt me,” Boo said, sniveling. “Did it to Buddy, too.”

Don’t open your eyes! But it was like they had a will of their own, slitting open. Boo was standing a few feet from her, his hands at his belt buckle.

Alarm licked through her, but she stayed still. What was he planning to do with his belt? Whip her?

But instead of yanking the belt free, he pulled down his pants and she saw the “C” scar on his thigh.
“See,”
he said. “LOOK.” Vaguely, she realized he meant C, the letter. “You know what it’s for? Calverson.” A jerk and an eye roll and Buddy was back. “Stop faking it, or I’ll burn you while you’re awake.”

She slowly opened her eyes. He’d lost his cowboy hat in the tussle, but he had the .22 in one hand. As if realizing it, he propped it against the wall.

“You said you loved Emily,” she said, seeking to appeal to some human part of himself, maybe the part reserved for Boo. “But you killed her.”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “I was chasing her. She lost control. That was before I knew what I had to do.”

“Before Margaret told you to kill the Treadwell girls.” What time was it? Where was Dance? Oh, God, she wished she still had her phone. If there was just some way to call him.

Another swift change, and then Boo cried, “It wasn’t Buddy’s fault! She was mean. And . . . and . . . they needed to be sent back to God.”

“They. I’m one, too,” she reminded, trying to appeal to him. Boo was childlike in comparison to Buddy. “Buddy made a mistake about that.”

“Noooooo . . . !”

And then Buddy was back again. His gaze dropped to Jordanna’s breasts and he licked his lips. “You wanna see Chase?”

“No.”

“He’s right behind the door. Wanna see?”

“No . . . no . . .”

But he was on his feet and hurrying to the stall door with the wooden bar. She braced herself as he suddenly stopped and trembled. Boo’s higher voice cried, “She doesn’t want it! Don’t open it.”

But even as he was talking, he was lifting the bar. The door swung outward and she caught a glimpse of a nightmare corpse, the mouth dragging downward, the eyes sunken and liquid, receding into a skull of darkly rotting flesh.

“You’re Chase’s older brother,” she said, searching for the name.
Dutton . . . Dutton Sazlow.
She didn’t remember his face, yet he had to have been at school about the same time she was. And he’d known Emily. “You didn’t go to Rock Springs High?”

“Mama taught me everything.”

And suddenly she remembered Emily straightening up from straddling their father, shrieking, “Dutton!” Not Dayton. She’d been shaken awake from sleepwalking and had called out to her boyfriend.

“You were the one who got Emily on the righteous path to the Lord,” she realized dully.

“I loved her,” he said again. “But if she’d lived, she would have had to die. Like you . . .” His eyes were hot as they looked her over. Jordanna shrank back, aware that he was lusting for her, uncertain whether he had any self-control left. Then he pulled a small white bag from the pocket of his jacket and opened it up to reveal a small vial. He stuck the eyedropper inside and filled it to the top.

Dance missed the turnoff to the Sazlow property. It flashed by on his left and he stood on the brakes. The Highlander fishtailed, shuddered, and stopped. Quickly, he threw it into reverse. Dayton got a new hold on the chicken bar and then they were plowing down a rutted lane filled with muddy, rain-filled potholes.

“I don’t need that,” Jordanna told him.

“Yes, you do. I have to sear out the bad,” he said.

“I can take it.”

He was very near. She’d tucked her hands behind her as if they were still tied, hoping he would forget she was free. He didn’t seem to be tracking very well. The switch between Dutton and Boo took a toll.

“It will be too painful,” he said.

“You won’t hurt me, will you?” She gazed at him appealingly. If she stirred his compassion, she might be facing Boo again. That’s what she wanted. The weaker persona.

“It will hurt.” He frowned. She sensed he was fighting to keep Boo away. Outside, she heard the approach of a racing engine.
Dance!

With a roar, Dutton pulled away from her, dropping the eyedropper. Jordanna was up in a flash. The scythe? No. The gun!

Dutton had run for the branding iron. What he intended to do, she didn’t know, but she guessed he was going to finish what he’d started come hell or high water. She tore for the .22, yanking it into her hands as he whipped around with the red-hot iron. She could see the “t” of the cross.

Car doors slammed. She heard a shout. Dutton was lost for a moment, not sure which threat to attack first. Jordanna lifted the rifle to her shoulder, sighting. “I’ll shoot you,” she said. “I’m a pretty good shot.”

“Jordanna!” Her father’s voice was like the crack of a whip. She faltered, but Dutton whirled around with the branding iron, silently charging Dayton. Dance was suddenly in the barn door, hampered by his leg.

“Wait!” he called to Dutton, but it was too late. He thrust the iron at Dayton’s chest, searing through his jacket and shirt. Her father cried out in pain.

“Drop it,” Jordanna ordered Dutton.

He paid no attention to her, but Dance was on him, trying to knock the iron out of his hand. It went flying toward the hay bale. He got off balance, his leg weak, and Dutton kicked at him.

“Don’t do this, son,” her father pleaded, reaching toward him. Dutton roared again, glancing around wildly.

“Get out of the way, Dad.” Jordanna’s finger was on the trigger.

Dance stood up. “Wait.”

Dutton hesitated, couldn’t decide between Dayton and Dance. But Dayton was closer. He reached for the pitchfork and whipped it at him.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY, DAD.”

Dutton grabbed her father’s arm, but Dayton pulled back.

Blam!

Jordanna blasted Dutton Sazlow, who stared down at the hole in his shoulder for a brief moment, then sank to the ground in utter disbelief.

It took hours to straighten everything out. Chief Markum and Peter Drummond came flying up the lane, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Dutton sat for a stunned moment, while Dance ripped off his own jacket and pressed it against the wound; then he turned into Boo and curled into the fetal position, crying softly and saying it wasn’t Buddy’s fault, over and over again.

Jordanna huddled beneath a blanket beside Dance and let the police take over. An ambulance was ordered and Dutton was taken to Malone, under police custody. Peter Drummond got all officious and demanded statements, even from her father, who refused to go to the hospital as well. His burn, tempered by his clothes, wasn’t as severe as it could have been. Markum wanted to forgo questioning Dayton at all, but Jordanna’s father insisted he be a part of it, so they all trooped to the station and made their statements. Jennie came rushing in and Dayton held her close. Dance lasted about an hour before dragging Jordanna away, declaring they all could pick it up again the next day, and taking her home.

Home . . . Rustic as it was, the old homestead felt like it welcomed her with open arms. She stood beneath the shower’s spray until the hot water ran out. Then Dance came in and wrapped her in a towel. Soon after they made love again, sweetly and tenderly, and she told him she loved him without caring if it was too soon.

“I think I’ve loved you since you showed up at the hospital” was his heartfelt response, which made her nose burn with unspent tears.

Three weeks later, she was at her laptop, putting the finishing touches on a story that was planned as a weeklong series for
The Oregonian,
an in-depth look at life in a small-town farming and ranching community that also touched on one homesteading family’s history with a disease that had devastating consequences for those afflicted, and those who helped take care of them.

Jordanna finally had the opportunity to interview the Benchleys, Agnes Benchley, to be exact, the matriarch of the remaining Benchley family, who let her behind the N
O
T
RESPASSING
sign and into her home, filling her in with some missing family history. The older woman was as spry and sharp as Virginia Fowler, though not quite as forthcoming. She hemmed and hawed awhile before trusting Jordanna with her tale. She lived with her two remaining siblings, Oscar and Leonard, still handsome, elderly men who could have been twins. “We all made a pact,” Agnes told Jordanna, and the two brothers nodded. “The Benchley disease was going to end with us. We all stuck to it. Leonard and I never married, never had families, and Oscar and his wife, Clarissa, God rest her soul, adopted a boy and a girl.”

“Allen and his sister,” Jordanna remembered. “I met Zach, Allen’s son.”

“That’s correct. But . . . when I said we stuck to the pact, that isn’t completely true. Our sister, Mona, who was stricken, had a child, Liam, and after her death, we took care of him. We’d lost most of our property by then, all we had was what’s now the Sazlow place and this last farm. Now, it’s just the farm.”

“Liam Benchley. I was told he died young,” Jordanna said.

“No.” Agnes shook her snow-white head. “Sometimes it happens like that. They live a long time.” Her smile was reflective, sad. “He was a charming, handsome little boy. We hoped he would be like Oscar, Leonard, and me—not afflicted—but it wasn’t the case. When he got ill, we took care of him here for the rest of his life.”

“So, my sister, Emily, was the last of the Benchleys?” Jordanna had told her about Aunt Evelyn and Liam, and it had come as a surprise.

The older woman looked down at her hands, almost in prayer. “We didn’t know Liam had a daughter until you told us. And we also didn’t know that my father had another child, Henry, until much later when Henry showed up in Rock Springs with his wife. He’d taken the Benchley name, even though our father never acknowledged him while he was alive. Henry had the disease, it was clear, but it was a milder case. And he’d already had two daughters, Kate and Margaret, who both kept the Bicknell name. We were all praying that everything would work out with them, but . . .” She wagged her head. “Now they’re both gone.”

Jordanna had nodded. Kate’s bones and Margaret’s body had been transferred from the Sazlow property to Everhardt Cemetery. Chase, Bernadette, and Kara had been interred there as well. The community had held a joint service for all of them, and Jordanna had stood beside her father at the ceremony. When he’d reached for her hand, she’d held on tightly.

Agnes had initially worried about Dutton and Chase. “I knew they were Kate’s, but it always seemed like they were fine. Margaret never had children and she led a normal life, so it was just Dutton and Chase. Well, and Liam.”

Liam had never left the house until just before his death, when he’d started to wander back to the old property. Twice, Allen had gone in search of him and had brought him back. It embarrassed him, Agnes revealed, and he and his adoptive father, Oscar, had fought about it, but then Liam was gone and Allen said he couldn’t find him.

Liam was the homeless man, discovered three years earlier. She’d already figured out as much from what Dutton had said. Agnes and her brothers hadn’t told the authorities that Liam was missing, and when, and if, they’d been apprised of the death of a “homeless” man, they apparently never made the connection. It was Jordanna who gave Agnes the information that the man was her brother, Liam, to which Agnes simply nodded and said they’d figured he was gone. Jordanna didn’t mention the branding. It would do more harm than good at this point, she felt. If someone else told the family matriarch, fine, but if Agnes never knew the extent of Dutton’s downward mental spiral, so much the better. All she’d been told was that several bodies had been found on the Sazlow property. She probably had to suspect foul play was involved, but she didn’t ask, and Jordanna didn’t tell. When her series came out, some of that would be revealed, but Dutton’s craziness wasn’t the thrust of her story and she’d downplayed it.

But, in the telling, Jordanna had written about Margaret’s mission to purge the Treadwells from Rock Springs. Margaret must have truly believed the Treadwells carried the rogue gene as she’d clearly beaten that information into Dutton’s head. Jordanna had quizzed her father about Margaret, wanting to know if she had ever been interested in him romantically. He’d shaken his head in disbelief, but finally admitted, yes, she’d once chased him down with a persistence that had been both irksome and slightly scary. Though Margaret’s laserlike focus on Dayton had bothered Jordanna’s mother, he’d personally dismissed it. He found it horrifying that she’d since focused on his children as the targets of her campaign to purge the disease forever.