The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller (18 page)

“No!
Stop it!” she yelled as she got to her knees. Her right hand slipped through
the coarse rope and she raised her hand to halt him. “I have it. I have what
you’re looking for.”

Her
other hand, with the loose rope coiled around it, went to her jeans pocket and
she fished the rabbit’s foot out. She held it up, showing them. The bright pink
fur glistened in the moonlight.

Everyone
paused.

“The
rabbit’s foot,” Grover said. He reached for it.

Rayanne
shrank back. “Let us go,” she said, “or I swear I will chuck it overboard.”

Grover
waved to Scut. “I’m tired of playing these games,” he said. “Kill her and take
it.”

Scut
released his grip around Owen’s torso. Owen dropped to the floor with a loud
thud that rocked the boat. Scut stepped across the boat. He approached Rayanne,
pulling a switchblade from his pocket. It opened with a flick of his wrist.
Standing over her, he leaned forward, pointing the knife. Rayanne locked eyes
with him, and took a deep breath.

He
came close to her, breathing in her face, and she could smell his rank breath.
Rayanne inched back on her haunches, as if cowering from him, then sprang up.
She knocked her forehead into his chin.

It
cracked loudly.

Scut
bounced backward, surprised, and cried out in pain. She then pushed him as hard
as she could. He lost his balance, rocking the boat. Flailing his arms, he
arched back, pitched over the side of the boat, and splashed into the water.

In
the confusion, Rayanne grabbed the shotgun. Raising it, she pointed and fired
two shots. One into Dru’s leg and the second into her stomach. The gunshots
echoed loudly across the lake as Dru cried out and dropped to her knees,
clutching her belly. Blood spilled out between her fingertips.

Rayanne
wasted no time. She scrambled to the front of the boat and knocked hard into
Dru, pushing her overboard. There was no scream of surprise, only a loud
splash. Then quiet.

Rayanne
dropped the gun and fell to Owen’s side. She touched his face as Grover yelled
behind her. Rayanne glanced at the crippled man, then reached for the rope
around Owen’s wrists. She tried desperately to unravel it, but the boat jolted
and she lost her balance. Looking up, she saw the spider webbed tattoos of
Scut’s arm splash up on the starboard gunwale as his wet head popped up over
the side. He was climbing aboard.

The
boat rocked violently as Scut lifted his body over the gunwale and into the
boat.

Rayanne
watched him stand, dripping, and he lunged for her. Scut knocked into Owen’s
legs as he overpowered Rayanne and grabbed her arms. She fell onto her back.
Scut was on top of her, pinning her down. He had one hand on the rope around
her right wrist and bound her arms together. She struggled, but was powerless
against him. When her wrists were bound again, she felt his meaty hands on her
shoulders. He flipped her around onto her front. She looked over at her
husband, who was fighting against the rope around his own hands. He yelled at
them.

She
could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t hear him. She only knew that Scut was
on top of her. She could feel his weight on her back and she could barely
breathe. He was tying her legs together. Then his weight lifted off her, and
she gulped in air.

Her
legs swung to the right, across the floorboard, and she looked down, across her
body. Scut was pulling on the rope, pulling her along the rough carpet. He lifted
the rope and threaded it through another cinder block. She screamed and kicked.
He slammed a fist on her thigh, then yanked the rope again, so violently she
thought her leg would break at the knee. She kicked again, and watched as Scut
knotted the rope around the cinder block.

He
looked back at her and smiled.

Rayanne
fought to scoot her body away from him, to free her hands. He lunged forward,
placing a hand on her mouth and over her nose.

“Shhhhhh,”
he said, leaning into her face.

Rayanne’s
eyes widened as he removed his hand from her face. She felt both his hands come
under her as his arms wormed across her back. He lifted her from the
floorboard. Rayanne felt the weight of the cinder block pull on the rope tied
to her ankle as she struggled in his arms. Scut carried her to the side of the
boat.

Rayanne
screamed and twisted her head. She looked down at Owen.

Owen
had freed his hands, and reached for Scut. He grabbed Scut’s leg. She could
hear Owen’s voice as he yelled.

Scut
lost his balance and fell backward. Rayanne dropped on top of him and they hit
the floorboard, hard. She felt Owen’s hands on her, pushing her off Scut’s
body. Scut was rising to his feet, reaching for Owen, as Rayanne’s face planted
onto the floorboard, her cheek scraping the rough carpet.

She
turned her head to see Scut and Owen engage. Their arms roped together, and
Owen was forcing Scut’s body toward the side of the boat. The two men locked
arms, struggled against each other, grunting. Scut managed to get to his feet,
rising above Owen.

Owen
grappled with the teen, struggling to bring him down. Scut got one hand on
Owen’s face, fingers pressing into the sides of Owen’s head. Extending his arm,
Scut held Owen back and stretched his other arm toward the cinder block in the
center of the boat. He grasped it, lifted it, and yanked it hard. The rope
knotted around Owen’s ankles tightened, and Owen fell onto his side. Scut
lifted the two cinder blocks with both hands and cast them over the side of the
boat. They splashed loudly as the length of rope grew taut.

Owen
cried out in pain when his bound legs were yanked toward the side of the boat.
He struggled against the weight pulling on his ankles.

Scut
stepped behind him, placing his hands on Owen’s back, and pushed. Rayanne
screamed, and struggled against the rope around her wrists and ankles. She
tried to stand. She tried to reach for her husband. She could do nothing but
watch as Scut forced Owen to the side of the boat, then over the edge.

Rayanne
lost her voice as the full horror took her.

She
launched her body forward, toward the edge, and saw Owen’s fingers. He was
clinging to the side of the boat. He raised his head, his face straining with
the weight pulling him down into the water. She stretched her arms toward him.

“Hold
on,” she cried. Her bound hands grasped her husband’s hand. Her fingers gripped
his, held tight. “Hang on, babe,” she said.

His
hands were wet. Her fingers slid across his, and she felt his wedding band
slipping. “Hold on, babe,” she said again, clenching her teeth.

Now
Scut was at her side, pushing her back. He seized her shoulders. Rayanne lost
her husband’s grip as both her hands flailed upward. Time seemed to stop … she
watched Owen’s fingers lose their hold on the side of the boat. Her eyes widened
and connected with his before he dropped out of view.

“No!”
she screamed, and freed herself from Scut’s grasp. She struggled to the front
corner of the boat. She looked over the edge, past the trolling motor into the
water. There were bubbles and turbulence, and Owen was gone.

Scut
was beside her again. He wrapped his arms around her, and she fought against
him. He pushed her toward the edge of the boat.

Her
torso hung over the edge as she clung to the side railing. She forced her body
back as Scut thrust her forward. She screamed when Owen’s head popped up out of
the water. One of his hands gripped the trolling motor pole as the other
reached up out of the water. His hand grabbed Scut’s leg and pulled.

Off
balance, Scut released Rayanne and reached down to force Owen to let go. Owen
clamped tighter onto the boy’s leg and pulled him toward the edge. Scut was
fighting against him, kicking his leg. Owen’s grip tightened and he let go of
the pole to grab Scut with both hands. Pulling suddenly, Owen brought Scut’s
body spiraling over the side and splashing into the water.

Rayanne
called out and leaned over the side of the boat. She could see the faint image
of Scut’s arms thrashing underwater as he struggled to free himself from Owen’s
hold. A second later, they disappeared, both sinking into blackness.

Rayanne
screamed for Owen. She struggled with the ties around her wrists and worked
them loose.

“Owen,”
she screamed again.

She
turned her head. Grover remained in the corner of the bench seat. She stared
into his icy eyes filled with years of hatred and anger, and she felt her
strength melt. Slowly she bowed her head, looking into the water, and realizing
what he’d done.

She
freed her hands and brought them to the rope around her ankles.

When
she looked up again, Grover had not moved. His eyes were still fixed on her.
She removed the rope around her legs and kicked the cement block away with her
foot. A deep rage filled her now, reviving her strength. And the rage she felt
toward Grover was a just rage. Their eyes met once more as Rayanne pushed
herself to her feet.

She
walked across the boat, rocking it, and struck out. She pushed the old man
backward out of the bench seat and onto the deck by the motor. He toppled, his
legs flopping onto the deck.

“It
didn’t have to be this way,” he said, looking up at her. He lifted his arms
defensively. “If you’d just given it back—”

“It
was a toy,” she said. “You did all this over some stupid little toy.”

“It’s
not a toy.” Raised up on his elbows, he inched closer to the motor. “It’s the
foot of a
Lepus capensis
. An Arabian Cape hare.”

“I
don’t care.” She hovered over him, holding the rope.

“All
the good things that happened to you and your husband, those were because of
the rabbit’s foot,” he said quickly. He reached toward the motor. “The lottery.
The successful business. Your big house. Your son, Connor.”

“I
don’t believe you.”

“The
foot is a talisman from the 1930 Chicago World’s Fair,” he said. “It was cursed
by a shaman, and it belongs to me.”

“I
don’t care.” Rayanne lunged toward him. She slipped the rope from her left
ankle and wrapped it around Grover’s neck, jerking it tight. His hand went to
his throat as she squeezed the life from him.

It
was murder, as cold-blooded as Rayanne could make it.

He
didn’t fight her. He raised his hands to his neck and grasped at the rope as
his upper body shook and convulsed. His eyes bulged. He gasped. His face turned
red, then blue. But his legs never moved.

When
the old man was dead, his lifeless body merely a rag doll lying on the deck
next to the motor, Rayanne finally moved again. She ran to the side of the boat
where Owen had tumbled over. Scanning the water, she watched bubbles coming up
… then a body surfaced.

“Owen?”
Rayanne reached for it, stretching an arm over the edge as far as she could.
Her fingers pulled the body closer. It lay face down in the water, and she
grabbed the hem of a soaked black shirt. Scut’s limp arm flipped up and Rayanne
saw the spiral of spider web tattoos along his biceps. She let go.

The
lake was still.

Rayanne
jumped over the side and splashed feet first into the lake. Water filled her
ears and she opened her eyes. Angling herself downward, she kicked, struggling
in order to reach the bottom. She forced herself deeper, pushed herself as far
as she could go. She never saw the bottom, though, only a deep, wavy blackness.

Owen
was gone.

She
tried again to swim deeper. A tightness grew in her chest, and her temples
pounded. She ignored the pain and fought the current to work her way down.

When
the burning sensation in her lungs grew too intense, she allowed her body to
float up. Breaching the surface, she inhaled with a sudden gasp, sucking in
air. Her body responded. Her legs cramped. Her arms weakened. Her head fell
below the waves, then back up again. She sucked in air, struggled to lift her
head and keep her nose above the waves, and drank in warm lake water.

Her
eyes searched desperately for the boat. She couldn’t find it. Her head fell
below the surface again. Water stung her eyes. She kicked. Her face breached
the surface. She looked for the boat.

A
good fifteen, twenty yards away, a silhouette bobbed up and down on top of the
lake.

She
tried to swim toward it. She splashed in the water, but her arms wouldn’t
cooperate. A sharp pain ripped through her abdomen as water overtook her again.
She went under, deeper this time. The lake swallowed her, and she looked up.
She could see the wavy surface above her.

She
was drowning, she thought. Drowning.

She
kicked her legs, forcing herself back up. Her face broke the surface, and she
spit out lake water, coughing. Water assaulted her mouth and nose again, and
she felt herself going under. She fought to keep her head up.

She
would never make it to the boat. She couldn’t stay afloat. She was drowning and
she knew it.

Her
head bobbed up. She tried to scream for help, sucking in more water, when
something solid hit her arm. She struggled to turn her head, her eyes rolled to
the right, and she saw a black mass of fur. A snout bumped her chin, and
Rayanne wrapped her arms around the dog as he paddled in front of her.