“Bella,” I scream, unable to see her. “Don’t be stupid.”
I race back to the house, grab her leash from a hook in the kitchen, and nearly rip open the drawer where the flashlights are stored. After grabbing a torch and flicking it on, I tear back outside.
“Bella . . . Bella,” I yell, approaching the end of the pool. The beam of my flashlight bobs as I go, making it hard to focus.
There’s no sign of her. Torn between an urge to cry and another to strangle her, I pause long enough to train the light toward the small hill that descends to the tennis court. She might be cowering in the shrubbery there . . . . Nothing.
I start down the hill, being careful not to slip on the slick grass, the wind whipping my hair. Up until now, I’d been helped a little by the glow cast from the house, but I’m beyond it at this point. There’s another huge bolt of lightning and then, almost simultaneously, the deafening sound of thunder rolling over the yard.
Finally, I hear her. A whimpering noise not far ahead. And a rustling, too.
“Bella, come here, girl,” I call. “Bella, please.”
For a split second the wind ceases, and finally Bella inches into the beam of the flashlight.
“Good girl,” I call out. I squat down and reach my arm out to her in a beckoning gesture.
Without warning, she flinches, her eyes trained on a spot behind me and to my right. There’s a movement there, too, which I catch from the corner of my eye. And then a sudden whooshing sound in the dark.
A second later the top of my head explodes in pain.
27
Have I been struck by lightning? The pain’s white-hot, like a wildfire’s radiating from my skull through every inch of me. My legs give out and I pitch forward onto the wet ground, facedown. I try to grab a breath but manage only short, desperate gasps.
Help me, I think. Someone, please.
A dog barks in the darkness. Desperate yaps. Bella. I try to call to her, but nothing escapes my lips. I succeed in moving my hand and fumble for the flashlight but realize it’s rolled to a spot I can’t see. Something’s in my left hand, though. I’m still holding the leash.
Other sounds now. The squeak of a shoe on grass, a swish of fabric. There’s someone behind me.
And then I feel hands on my bare calves. They’re pawing at the fabric of my capris. The person grabs hold with both hands and pulls. Fear shoots through my body, fighting for space with the pain.
I summon whatever energy I can find and heave my body in a half turn to the right. And then the rest of the way. I’m facing upward now, woozy.
I sense the other person stumbling backward, maybe in surprise, and then, a few seconds later, rushing forward again. Feebly, I kick out with one leg, trying to halt the approach.
Even in the dark and rain, I finally see who it is. Because of the hair, the white-blond shock of it.
Wendy.
She’s looming above me, her face twisted as she stares.
“Wendy,” I say, more a moan than a word. “Wha—?”
I don’t understand what’s happening. And my head’s pounding even harder now, the pain practically erasing all thought. Has she come looking for me? But there’s a horrible sneer on her face.
“Help me,” I manage. “Please.”
She’s gripping something—a hammer. But no, not a hammer, another kind of tool, whose head I can make out in outline. My heart lurches. That’s what struck me, I realize. She raises it high now, ready to drive it down on my skull again. I force my left arm up and away from my body, and flick the leash like a whip at her. I barely make contact, but she yelps in surprise and staggers backward.
She comes at me again, the tool raised.
She’s going to crush my skull.
I gasp for air and roll my body again, hurling myself into the shrub next to me. The blow misses my head but nails my shoulder, piercing skin through my shirt. I grunt in pain.
I force myself up onto my hands and knees, trying to fight my way through the shrub. Blood from my head wound runs into my eyes and my mouth, mixing with rain and tasting like metal. In the dense and prickly branches, I cover almost zero ground, and I let out a cry of despair, still trying to crawl. There seems to be no escape.
I see the light then. A flashlight beam, coming from behind and erratically slicing the darkness ahead of me. And a man calling out above the rain.
“Wendy, what the hell’s going on?” I’ve never been so relieved to hear my husband.
“Gabe,” I scream. As I twist around to see him, my head fills with swooshing sounds. “She . . . she’s trying to kill me.”
I sense him jerking back in surprise, halting in his steps.
Please, don’t let her hurt him.
“Get away from her, Wendy,” Gabe shouts.
“You have no idea what’s going on,” Wendy screams.
“I said, get the fuck away from her.”
He charges her, I can tell from the sound, and soon I hear their bodies dropping to the ground with a thud. Then scuffling, shoes slipping on soaking wet grass. I twist my head again, pushing against the pain, but can see only their outlines. I think Gabe’s on top, but I can’t be sure. I let out an anguished cry. “Gabe, are you okay?”
More scuffling. Gabe grunting, I think. Someone struggles to their feet. Gabe.
Then from behind us, the sound of heavy feet, booted maybe, tramping on the ground.
I wiggle a little, edging myself back out of the shrubbery, and raise my head, higher this time. There’s rainwater and blood running in my eyes but I can see two beams of light penetrating the darkness.
“Freeze,” two voices shout in unison.
“She was trying to kill my wife,” Gabe calls out to them, jabbing an arm in my direction.
One of the beams of light ferrets me out, snagging me in the eyes and making me squint.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wendy protests from the ground. She struggles up and stands. Her clothes are sopping wet, and her hair’s slicked back tight. “I was trying to help her.”
“I said freeze,” someone calls again. It’s a trooper, I realize, from the outline of the hat, two of them actually. A man and a woman. “Every one of you.”
“Please,” I say, not moving a muscle. “I’m injured. She smashed me on the head with some kind of hammer.”
“Are you bleeding?” the female voice asks.
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to help her,” Gabe pleads.
“Officer Belker is going to call you an ambulance,” the male trooper shouts to me. “And I’m going to put the other two of you in cuffs until we sort this out. Then we’re going to wait for a second unit before we escort you back to the house.”
As Gabe mutters his consent, I slowly lower my body facedown onto the wet grass. Could I be wrong about what’s happened? No. I saw the weapon in Wendy’s hand—and the rage on her face. A question fights its way through my wooziness. Why? Why would Wendy do this to me? My thoughts are like ragged puzzle pieces that refuse to align.
The hard snap of metal cuts through the darkness—handcuffs being secured—and there’s a sudden burst of light in front of me, followed by a crack of thunder so loud I nearly levitate.
“We have to get my wife to the house,” Gabe calls out. “Please. She’s bleeding, and she shouldn’t be out in this weather.”