Jessica raised the gun higher, aiming directly at his head.
“What’s going on?” she repeated softly. “I’ll tell you what’s going on.
I saw some very interesting pictures today. My best friend Alicia brought them by. She thought I might like to know my husband was fucking my designer!!” Her voice rose with each word until she was screaming, her voice cracking on the last words.
Emma grew pale, covering her mouth with her hand. Oh dear God! Blake was married? To Jessica?!
Jessica laughed shrilly as she saw Emma’s reaction.
“That’s right, bitch, he’s my husband! Surely you knew that when you crawled into bed with him!!!
Emma shook her head. “I swear, Jessica! I had no idea,” she whispered.
“She didn’t know, Jessica,” Blake tried to explain, trying to calm her. “I only told her I lived there. I didn’t tell her I was your husband.”
“SHUT UP!!” she screamed. “JUST SHUT YOUR MOUTH!!!! She tightened her finger on the trigger, tears pouring down her face now. “Damn you,” she whispered. “I loved you, you bastard.”
She smiled sadly as she pulled the trigger.
Blake realized what was about to happen and twisted, desperately trying to shield Emma. His muscular body suddenly began jerking, falling toward her. It was only a split second before he was gone but in that short span of time he had a look of shock on his face, feeling the bullets tearing into his body as Jessica kept pulling the trigger.
The sound of the powerful handgun echoed through the small clearing. Shock at what was happening had paralyzed Emma. She was still trying to process what had been said when Jessica began shooting. When Blake fell across the seat, pinning her under him, Emma realized that Jessica intended to kill her too. Emma struggled to push his heavy weight away, screaming. Grabbing for the door handle, she pulled at it frantically, her hands slipping from the blood covering her. She finally managed to get the door open and slid from under Blake’s lifeless body, stumbling from the car, not looking back, running for her life. Jessica was screaming profanities at her when Emma felt the searing pain in her shoulder quickly followed by a second one in her back. She stumbled from the force of the impact and fell face forward onto the gravel. She lay very still, barely breathing; praying Jessica would think she was dead, too. A few minutes later the sound of one more single gunshot made her jerk. She wondered why she didn’t feel the pain of that shot, too.
The silence that followed was unbearable in the seclusion of Emma’s driveway, shocking after the violence that had just happened. She held her breath, finally looking around slowly, moving as little as possible. Blake was still in the car but Jessica was nowhere to be seen. She waited, the seconds passing like hours as she waited for her to reappear. She could feel the blood flowing from her wounds making her wonder how much blood she was losing internally. She began praying that she would live long enough to see her mother one more time and tell her how much she loved her and how sorry she was for being so stupid. Her vision blurred, her eyes filling with tears.
Finally, she thought enough time had passed and she could feel herself getting weaker so it was now or never. She moved slowly, rolling to her back. She sat up, trying to see just how bad her wounds were. She couldn’t see her shoulder but when she felt around she couldn’t find a hole in the front. The pain in her back and stomach was quickly becoming unbearable. Her shirt was saturated with blood and she struggled to pull it off, nearly passing out from the pain of moving her injured shoulder. Finally succeeding, she gathered her courage and looked at the lower wound; it was much worse than she had imagined. The bullet had passed through her, leaving the flesh ragged and bleeding profusely. Gagging, Emma forced herself to wad her shirt into a bundle, pressing it against the gaping hole in her torso. It was underneath her breast so she slipped her bra straps off and pulled the band of the bra down to try and hold the makeshift bandage in place. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to catch her breath, praying for the strength she knew she would need. There was no chance of anyone finding her in time; her house was too isolated. The shirt seemed to have slowed the bleeding slightly but she knew she was still losing blood. Gathering her last bit of strength, she managed to get to her knees and started to crawl toward the car. Her cell phone was in there. She knew she would never make it to the house so it was her only hope. Her breathing was becoming more labored, flecks of blood on her lips. Not much farther, she told herself, moving one leg at a time. She had left her door open in her mad run and she reached for the seat with both hands, pulling herself up slowly, not looking at Blake’s body, knowing he was dead. Focusing only on her own survival, she pushed the horror away to be dealt with later. Right now, she had to save herself. She fumbled with her handbag, dumping the contents out as she dug inside. She could have cried in relief when she saw the tiny phone. She dialed 911, smearing the keypad with blood. Luckily it was only two rings before a bored sounding dispatcher answered.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
Emma could barely whisper. “I need help. I’ve been shot.”
CHAPTER 7
May 2010
Reed slowed the big four-wheel drive truck, looking for the driveway. Everything was so overgrown and wild now. It had been years since anyone had been here. He wasn’t even sure he could find it himself even though he had grown up here. Being away for so many years could fade a lot of memories. He had just passed a huge boulder when he spotted the rutted drive. Now he remembered the rock had stood at the entrance to the ranch. It had been a long time since he had sat on that very rock and drawn whatever his imagination could come up with. He pushed the childhood memories away and turned onto the dirt track. He took his time covering the mile long drive. Surprisingly, the house was still standing. No one had lived there since his father had died close to ten years ago. He got out and walked up onto the porch, being careful to avoid the rotten boards. The front door swung open with a push and the sound of small animals scurrying away made him shake his head. Maybe trying to move back here wasn’t such a great idea after all. As it stood right now, the house wasn’t even fit for the animals that had taken up there, much less humans. He made his way to the living room, glad to see the stone fireplace was still in good shape. The windows were still intact as far as he could see. If the rest of the house was fairly decent, he could just camp here instead of making the long drive back to town. This would almost be considered luxurious compared to some of the places he had slept in during his travels. He wandered through the rest of the house. It was a lot smaller than he remembered. The floor plan was one big room with only the two bedrooms and two bathrooms closed off for privacy.
Without a lot of square footage to cover, he quickly found himself on the back porch looking out over the meadow. It certainly hadn’t changed. The deer and other animals kept the overgrowth down with their grazing. It always amazed him to see just how things stayed the same when humans stayed out of the way. He could have still been five years old, waiting breathlessly for his first glimpse of a wild animal. His father had built this place from the ground up on weekends and days off and they had moved here to get away from the pressure of living in the city. His father had been a writer and when he had finally written the best seller they had all been waiting for, he had bought this land and they had left the rat race behind. It had been a turning point in Reed’s young life. He had thrived in the wilderness, spending hours in the woods. His mother had home schooled him and when he went to the local community college, he had been way ahead of his fellow students. Her death when he was nineteen had sent his father straight into the bottle and he had not seen a sober day from then until the day he went out into the forest and shot himself. Reed had left as soon as the funeral was over. With enough money to do whatever he wanted, he had bought a camera and set out
