The Camp (5 page)

Ellen struggled with her fears as the scene with her mother played over and over in her mind. Overcome with the stress brought on by adrenaline-fueled emotions, she collapsed, exhausted, then sobbed and cried herself to sleep.

Dorothy Stulov ,moved mindlessly into the kitchen. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she saw her daughter for the first time as a young woman, not her little girl. Not a child who could be won over with sweets. Trance-like she picked up the pan of unbaked Baklava, walked out the side door to the garbage, lifted the lid, and dropped in the pastry, pan and all. There was a pause and a thud when the heavy pan struck the bottom of the can. She leaned over and looked, but did not see. Then she replaced the lid and returned to the kitchen.
 

She didn’t know what to do. There was no one to call. Steven came to mind, but Dorothy didn’t know his number, didn’t know the name of any of her daughter’s friends.

Walking down the hall into Ellen’s room, she sat in front of the computer. After she skated the mouse back and forth across its little pad, Google appeared, front and center, on the screen. Hands on the keys, employing the hunt and peck system, Dorothy pounded out a dozen searches without getting a single satisfactory result. Until finally. The hardest words she’d ever known, spoken to no one, spilled into the search field. Troubled teen. Up came her solution, third from the top. Camp Hiouchi.

Chapter Seven

Jon Stew was sixty-one and had been running since grammar school. He’d always tried to match the length of the run to his level of training. Lately, he’d been reduced to five miles and with his busy work schedule, most of his running was at night.

He’d never been a morning person, so it was actually just as well. Besides, there was almost no traffic along his route in the evenings.
 

He’d leave his home on Scenic Avenue, running almost level above the boulevard until he reached Wimer Road, and then descend the steep downhill. When he came to South Main, he’d cross and take the bike lane to the light, just North of the Chevy dealer, and then cut up to Eagle Mill Road. Even though there was a paved bike trail that paralleled it, he liked running on the road itself. It was a straighter shot to Oak Street.

Tonight, when he turned onto Eagle Mill, he got his second wind and opened his stride.

Mary Beth Newman had had a bad day that wasn’t ending. The night before, she’d bleached her hair, only to discover in the morning that under natural light, it looked uneven and streaked. Then, she checked her online dating profile and discovered that the man she’d been seeing for months was listed there. And the thing was, the talents and traits he listed didn’t match any she’d encountered. When she got to work— early as usual—her boss was waiting. Smart Alarm and Security Systems couldn’t afford a receptionist any longer, he said, but he’d give her 45 days. When she left at the end of the day, the battery in her aging Honda was dead, so she had to call Triple A. If it wouldn’t take a charge, she would have to by a new one.

The one bright spot was when the car started.

She couldn’t go home to her dingy apartment. Considering her mood, it would only make things worse. Instead, she decided to treat herself to a little comfort food at the Specialty Burger just off the Interstate. The Specialty Meal, her favorite, included the famous Specialty Double Burger, french fries, a large drink, a salad, and a cherry pie.
 

Sitting in their dining area, alone with all those plastic tables and chairs, would just add to her pain. She refused to sit and eat in the parking lot, so by the time her order was ready, she’d made up her mind. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she placed the three bags of fast food on the passenger seat, followed the arrows out of the lot, and turned onto Eagle Mill Road. There was a turn out she had used before when she was in the clutches of a comfort food crisis.
 

Pulling into the turn out, she sat quietly for a moment then brought all three bags over onto her lap. She was wolfing down the burger when a sudden squirt of Specialty sauce shot onto her blouse. Chin on chest, she observed the drop as it slowly made its way toward her cleavage.
 

“Shit, shit, shit.”

With the speed of a desperate woman, she looked around, using the rearview mirror to look behind her. Satisfied that the road was deserted and she was alone, she removed her blouse. Then, fishing under the seat, she found some bottled water.
 

She arranged the three bags on the passenger seat so they’d support her blouse, held one of the napkins under the errant drop, and with the other hand, dribbled on enough water to dilute the sauce. Water bottle down, she dabbed the spot with another napkin until the material was nearly dry and the spot was gone.

Under the yellow halo of the dome light she smiled. “No stain.”

Thinking she heard something, she turned off the interior light, slouched low in the seat, and rolled down the window.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. She knew that sound. Her former boyfriend, the one before the lying sack of shit, was a runner. Before she could turn to reach for her blouse, a rapidly approaching set of headlights silhouetted him.
 

She watched, with a morbid fascination. Waiting for the runner to move further onto the shoulder. When the van began to swerve, a sense of alarm caused her heart to beat faster. If the runner didn’t stop—or at least move off the shoulder to the fence that marked the boundary of the field—the van would hit him.
 

That was it: the van was going to hit the runner. She had to do something. She’d flashed her lights. He’d see them for sure. She fumbled with the key in the ignition, turned on her lights, and flicked them from high to low beam. No reaction from the van. Nothing Then it was too late.

She watched in horror as the runner arched through the air and the van kept on going, faster though. She wished she hadn’t flashed her lights and slid down even lower in the seat. When the van approached, she heard two pops and a spider web spread across her windshield, one of the bags of food exploded sending Thousand Island dressing everywhere.

Reaching up, she adjusted her rearview mirror and from her position in the seat, watched as the van exited Eagle Mill without stopping and headed right, toward the freeway.

Suddenly all her frustration, all her anger, every emotion bubbled up and without thought, she dragged her purse from the floor and upended it in her lap, driving her hands into the contents until she found her cell phone. With a flick of the wrist, she snapped the clamshell open and pressed quick dial emergency—911.

“This is 911. What’s your emergency?”

How could the operator be so calm? What the hell was the matter with her?

“Some fuckers in a van just shot at me.”

“Are you injured?”

“The assholes hit a runner and just kept going.”

“Ma’am, please calm down and answer me. Are you injured?

Then the words echoed in her head and she wondered what she was doing on the phone when the runner was laying hurt, maybe dying alone in the dark.

“I’m at the north end of Eagle Mill Road. Look for an old Honda Civic. I’ll leave the lights on. Send an ambulance. Send the police.”

The phone fell from her left hand and when she reached for it, something red dripped from her fingers. All that mattered was that she got to the runner. But her fingers couldn’t grip the door handle, and she felt sick to her stomach.

Chapter Eight

This guy was full of crap and she knew it. Claire watched Ed squirm under Paul’s scrutinizing stare. When he didn’t answer, Amy repeated her question. “I said: How would you know?”

When Ed finally opened his mouth to speak, the only sound was a Klaxon alarm. Everyone was shocked and all heads looked around for the source of the irritating sound, except Rye and Claire, who stood as one.
 

“What is it?” Paul shouted.

Claire was already weaving her way around the boxes, headed for the makeshift dispatch room. Amy, Paul, and Ed followed Rye through the breezeway into the barn, but stood out of the way as he unplugged the huge vehicle and removed the blocks from the rear tires. The barn was suddenly engulfed in silence, a sign that the alarm had been turned off. Moments later, Claire dashed in and ran around to the passenger side of the ambulance, where she looked across the cab and gave her friends a wave.
 

Rye came around from sliding the door open, climbed in, and fastened his harness.

He hit both lights and sirens, rolled the window down, and shouted out for Paul to close up the barn.
 

“What’s the call?”

Claire read directly from the sheet she’d attached to the clipboard. “Hit and run, possible shooting. Called in on a cell, north end of Eagle Mill Road.”

From their new headquarters on Valley View Drive, it would just be a matter of minutes. He kept the lights and sirens running in case they encountered another vehicle.
 

They had just cleared the Exit 19 ramp when Claire spotted a police cruiser. Rye saw it at the same time.
 

“Got it.”

They’d just turned onto Eagle Mill when the cruiser stopped behind a car with its headlights on. The officer turned the spot light on the Honda and was out in a crouch, right hand unsnapping the leather strap on his holster.

Rye angled the ambulance to block the road, aiming the headlights on the little car.

When the officer waved ‘all clear,’ Rye ran to his side to make the assessment. Claire ran to the back of the ambulance for the jump kit, slinging the medical pack on her back as she ran.

The officer moved around to the passenger side of the car.
 

“Ma’am, were you physically assaulted?”

Mary Beth stared at the officer like the question was in Greek.

He looked across at Rye. “Shock?”

“Hey, I’m right here. No, I wasn’t assaulted and no, I’m not in shock.”

“My apologies, Ma’am. It’s just that you’re not wearing a shirt.”

Memory flooded back and she quickly crossed her arms over her chest and began scanning the front of the car for her blouse.

“Ma’am, did you call 911?”

She felt like screaming. “I sure did and I reported a hit and run.”

Rye had spotted a slice across the top of her shoulder. But with two powerful lights illuminating the car, he was shocked to see the level of gore all over the passenger seat and the inside of the windshield.

“My name’s Rye. What’s yours?”

She looked around. “Why the hell isn’t somebody looking for the runner?”

Rye touched her on the arm. “Mary Beth. My name is Mary Beth. What the hell is he doing?”

The officer was using a credit card to scrape something off the passenger side window.

“Mary Beth, I need your attention for a minute.” She turned her head to face him. “My partner will be here any second. Where did you see the runner?”

She attempted to raise her arm to point and thought better of it. “About two hundred feet straight ahead. I know ‘cause he was just entering my headlight beam.”

“Mary Beth.”
 

“Yes, right here. What’s the matter with you people?”

Rye ignored the comment. “Do you have pain anywhere other than your shoulder?” She cut him off. “Salad dressing.”

Rye ran the tip of his finger through a clump of the unknown substance on the dashboard.

Claire came up to the side of the Honda and swung the jump kit off her shoulder. One look at the windshield, the bullet hole in the side of the door and the gore on what she could see of the steering wheel and the dashboard, and she prepared herself for the worst.
 

When she came up on Rye’s right side, he was just licking his finger. “What are you doing?”

He turned and smiled. “Thousand Island.”

Claire just shook her head. “Tell me later. Where’s the runner?”

“About two hundred feet down the shoulder of the road this side.”

She was off at a run, calling out and waving the flood light back and forth. No one answered.

The reflector on the victim’s back caught her attention, and she ran up, still calling out. When she was ten feet away, she stopped. His head was tucked under his left armpit. Otherwise, it looked like he was simply lying on his stomach with his arms and legs out stretched. She’d seen this before. He’d been knocked into the air and had landed on his head.

When she ran her light around the body to determine the point of impact and direction, something caught the light. Walking over, she saw that it was a hearing aid.

Mary Beth was chattering away, giving the officer her impression of the events leading up to the shooting. She stopped talking when she saw Claire walk up.

“He’s dead, isn’t he? I saw him fly through the air. It was as though he didn’t hear the van coming. I mean, he must have seen my headlights, but he didn’t do anything, didn’t look around or anything.”

Claire walked up next to Rye and squatted down. “I found a hearing aid next to the body. If he was running with it turned off, he wouldn’t have had any reason to turn around.”

The officer waved Claire to the front of the car. “I’ll call it in. You can transport the woman, but leave the body. It looks like vehicular man slaughter and attempted murder.”

Rye had finished dressing the wound and was just standing when Claire walked up.

“Officer says leave the body.”

“Then we’re done here, she says that if her battery isn’t dead from leaving the lights on she’s fine to drive home.” The revving of the little Honda drowned out his last words.

Mary Beth gave them a thumbs up, followed with a loud ‘thank you.’

Rye grabbed the jump kit by its strap. The two walked in silence to the ambulance. Claire climbed behind the wheel. He walked around to the back, climbed in far enough to secure the little medical pack, then lurched out, closing and securing the big double doors.
 

They drove back, each deep in their own thoughts. Claire guided the ambulance off Valley View and into the driveway. This was her first time driving home to the new location.