He looked at her sharply. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Charlie said.
His hand twitched as if thinking of action on its own. Charlie took a half step backward as his attention flickered to the front of the house where headlights slowly panned across the twilight.
"I won't let you suffer, Charlie." His voice lay across her, soothingly, a benediction.
She felt the low flagstone wall at the back of her legs. The edge of the stone cut roughly into her bare skin, but she knew the touch was gentle compared to what she must be facing.
The car headlights panned slowly away from the front of the house. She took a deep breath, realizing she had been holding it until the car moved away. He also took a deep breath. Then he ran his hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes.
Jagger suddenly jerked as if jolted awake. His sharp whine made them both jump and in that moment Wade took his eyes off her, and she knew she had but seconds to act.
Charlie threw herself over the balcony.
Chapter Thirty-Five
She hit with a thud that should have taken the breath out of her, but she did not feel it. Sage and mesquite and scrub brush bent under her as she scrambled to her feet, then half fell, half tumbled downslope. As purple shadows arched down the foothill, she slid and pitched toward the canyon below. Behind her, she heard a faint muffled curse and then a heavy thud as another body landed behind her.
Below, she could see the empty booths and labyrinth of the Wood Chip Celebration grounds. Beyond it, the main road through the canyon. As long shadows stabbed across the terrain, Charlie threw herself downward. Brush and thorn stabbed and tore at her. She pitched headlong, heedless, swimming through it, standing and running when she could before losing her balance again.
Once inside the labyrinth, he could never find her. It was her only chance, if she did not break her neck getting there.
The slope grew steeper. She slid on her butt, hands tearing on mesquite. The crash and cursing of her pursuer sounded almost as loud as her ragged breath in her lungs.
Then, suddenly, the branches broke away under her, dropping her straight down.
Charlie fell heavily into the upper arm of the waterwheel. She lay stunned a moment, then rolled over with a groan. She'd reached the grounds. She pulled herself out of the wheel and, dangling by her fingertips, let go, falling a second time, to the deck and benched area surrounding the waterwheel. In a month or so, there would be a brook here, lazily turning the waterwheel, water endlessly circulating through the shady corner. Now the brook and pool were dry, cement being patched, its innards exposed like some great, beached animal.
Charlie skittered off the deck and hit the ground, wood chips flying from under her sneakers, her right leg aching in wicked protest. She breathed in great, painful gasps. Behind her, brush limbs crackled. She dove under the edge of the platform and began to crawl.
Underneath, the wood chips bit into the palms of her hands, drawing blood. Fine dust from past years rose, clogging her nose, her mouth, as she tried to breathe.
With her weak leg, and her raw lungs, she would not be able to run far. Footsteps drummed the deck above her.
"Charlie! Don't run from me, Charlie. I didn't mean to upset you."
She put the back of her hand to her mouth to keep her breathing from being heard, and kept crawling under the deck. Ahead of her she could see the refreshment area, the buildings intact, their signs faded, awaiting fresh painting for the summer season. Pepsi, Coca Cola, Iced Tea, Snow Cones, Chilled Wine….
Spiderlike, she crept toward their facades.
Then she stopped, heart pounding, holding her breath. She could hear the footsteps above move away, head back in the other direction. Farther, farther.
Lungs bursting, Charlie exploded from under the deck, scrambling toward the refreshment stands. She rattled doors… locked, all locked, and he heard her, he came leaping back over the deck. She dove and rolled under a small bridge, and began crawling toward the exhibition booths.
Half the booths had been torn down. New exhibitors were coming in for the summer season, designing their own whimsical stands… their foundations bare and open.
Exposing Charlie.
Making it almost impossible to get to the front gate, and the road beyond, without being seen.
Twilight lowered, but not dark enough. A full moon overhead illuminated the grounds. She lay, and listened to him search for her, knowing that, inevitably, he would find her.
She reached down and carefully unfastened her leg brace. She slipped it off, then locked the knee hinges. Then she stood and began to limp her way to the gate.
He heard her. He came pounding up behind. She felt her breath sobbing in her lungs, her nose begin to run, her leg quiver as she hobbled, faster, faster. Then, like a great cat, he leaped.
She heard the split second, pivoted, both hands wrapped around her brace, and swung it at his face as hard as she could. The impact tore the brace from her hands.
He let out a scream of pain and fell limply to the ground.
Charlie gulped, hesitating, then backed up, turned, and began to run jaggedly to the gate again. Grateful tears started to stream down her face. She was free. She could see the lights on the road on the other side of the padlocked gate. She would have to climb it, but once beyond, there was help.
She wrapped her fingers around the top of the gate and pulled herself up, hooked her elbows, coughing, and tried to find the strength to hike her legs over.
Clarkson tackled her. He caught her waist with a savage noise, tearing at her shirt. He clawed at her, prying her away from the gate. Charlie tried to scream and could not gather the strength from her lungs. She clung desperately to the gatepost, her arms hugging it, his weight dragging her back, inch by inch.
He growled like a feral beast in anger.
She turned her head around, looking back, looking at her death, as her arms gave way and she slid back into his embrace.
Something growled back and lunged at him.
It struck his throat. It snarled and ripped him away from her, and Charlie crawled aside and watched as Jagger pulled the man to the ground, jaws on his neck, growling in unmistakable menace, and kept him there.
* * *
That was how John Ribidoux and her father found them.
Epilogue
Charlie picked up her art portfolio and suitcase, and stood at the edge of the great room of her parents' home. Quentin stayed on his feet, watching her. She had already said good-bye to her mother inside.
"You don't have to leave," he told her.
She shook her head. "Yes, I do."
"Your place isn't rebuilt yet."
"I need a studio."
"You're going to keep painting."
She smiled slightly. "I am more the brush than the artist, I think. Midnight is the painter. And, yes, I am going to keep painting."
"I'll build a studio here."
"Dad… you don't have to. It's all right. You don't have to worry about what I might, or might not paint."
He looked at her gravely. He looked old, older than she remembered. "What are you talking about, Charlie?"
"Midnight told me about Nana. I know how she died. How I almost died."
His face went pale. "Charlie, I never meant to—"
"I know that. I wasn't ready. She was. You gave her peace, Dad. I won't ever have to paint her."
He tried to make sound, and couldn't.
She smiled at him. "But I can't stay here now. Mom understands. You have to let me go."
"To Midnight?"
Her smile grew, as she heard the familiar click of dog toenails on the floor outside the great room. "To John, Dad. I want to be with John."
He took a sweeping step forward and hugged her tightly. He said fiercely to the side of her head, "I've always loved you as if you were my own daughter."
"And I've always loved you back." She kissed him lightly.
When the man and dog came through the door, she went to them with confidence and happiness in her expression.
Visit Bookstore