In the moment of silence after the can rattled, she could hear the four-wheeler coming closer. Who’s that? Is someone gonna help me?
“Hey, little girl…you got a real man comin’ up to see you…not some schoolboy!” he said, licking his lips.
Elizabeth huddled in the corner of the shooting house and prayed.
“You’ll never be the same after me. You’ll throw rocks at all them college boys after you’ve had a little of this!” he said and snickered as he approached the shooting house. His sadistic laughter and lewd comments made her hyperventilate.
Suddenly she felt the structure shake. She couldn’t see who was shaking the shooting house but saw the fat guy with the pistol drive up on a four-wheeler. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. The shooting house rocked more and more as the goon climbed higher. Then the door shook, but it didn’t open immediately.
“Sweat…is that the girl up there?” the fat guy called as he slowed to a stop.
“Yeah, man, but you’re gonna hafta let me bring her down there for you. This ladder ain’t gonna hold yo big ass!” Sweat said with a laugh.
Elizabeth curled into a ball, praying the latch would hold.
“Leave her alone, man. I can’t let you hurt her!” Tiny hollered up at Sweat.
“Shut the hell up!” Sweat said as he worked his hand between the door and the frame.
“I’m serious, man. I ain’t gonna let you hurt her,” Tiny replied, climbing off the four-wheeler.
“You and whose army’s gonna stop me?” Sweat answered as he splintered the plywood door with his hands. He threw the pieces to the ground and, like Jack Nicholson’s character in The Shining, stuck his head inside, smiled, and said, “Heeeeerrrrreeeee’s Johnny!”
WHACK! The sound of the can smacking Sweat’s nose could be heard a hundred yards away.
Sweat rocked back, dazed, then slipped off the ladder. When he hit the ground, he bit off the tip of his tongue.
Elizabeth rushed down what was left of the ladder. She climbed as low as she could and jumped. Landing on her good foot, she rolled as she had learned in cheerleading camp.
Sweat reached out and caught her as she stood up. He slapped her as hard as he could, knocking her down. Then he kicked her in the ribs. The salty taste of his blood was making him crazy.
Tiny jumped on Sweat’s back. Sweat stumbled, but he still had Elizabeth solidly by the jacket. Sweat was dazed and confused and covered in his own blood.
“Let her go!” Tiny screamed, trying to hold on to Sweat.
“Get off me, you fat bastard. I’ll kill you, too! You sumbitch!” Sweat yelled as he struggled to stand.
Elizabeth was screaming, trying to pull herself free. Tiny was choking Sweat with his weight and grip around his neck. Sweat was not letting go of either one of them. They finally fell in a pile. Tiny landed squarely on Sweat. Elizabeth screamed in terror. They all lay in the road for several seconds. Elizabeth was trapped but was scrambling to regain position. As Sweat got to his knees, Elizabeth suddenly stood. He still had a grip on the bottom of her fleece but not her right arm.
WHACK! She hit him again in the side of the head, breaking a cheekbone and stunning him. As she slipped from his grip, her jacket ripped and came off. With her ankle throbbing, she ran the best she could. Her strides became a one-legged hop, but nevertheless she was getting away. And she still had her weapon. Elizabeth continued down the Dummy Line, never looking back.
Sweat watched her run while he fought with Tiny. Now that he didn’t have to hold the girl, he rolled Tiny on his back and punched him several times as hard as he could. Tiny simply curled into a giant fetal position and tried to absorb the beating.
Sweat finally got to his feet. He was wet all over. By the four-wheeler’s headlights, he could see that it was blood. His hands hurt, part of his tongue was gone, and his face was on fire. Every heartbeat sent flashes of pain through his face. He looked at his hands, down the road toward the girl, then down at Tiny. Then he kicked the crap out of Tiny one more time.
“You stupid asshole!” he growled. He spat a gob of blood on Tiny, wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, and then staggered after the girl.
After only twenty-five yards, Sweat stopped. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees. He had swallowed a large amount of blood and was about to puke. She’s a fighter. I like that. He had been able to catch that skinny boy by surprise. That was his trademark. He wasn’t expecting her to attack him, catch him off balance. What the hell did she hit me with? It felt like a brick. Bitch broke my nose.
Standing quietly in the moonlight, Sweat could see her limping down the road. She’s hurt. He smiled at the thought, blood trickling down his chin. He spat hard. She’d be easy to catch now.
Sweat turned and stared at Tiny moaning and unable to get up. “What the hell’s your problem, man? I don’t want to hurt you. We’re partners, dude, but you was way out of line. Ain’t nobody gonna keep me away from a taste of that sweet stuff.”
Glancing back at Elizabeth, he lusted after her athletic build and long legs. She had dark hair like that of a Cajun girl he had loved once. Seeing her in that black bra and jeans just made it worse. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. To hell with Reese and Johnny…I now got my own business to tend to.
Sweat knew his injuries weren’t life-threatening. They hurt like hell, but he wouldn’t let them distract him. Four years ago while working as a flunky for a fishing guide near Lake Charles, he had been high and accidentally put the gas nozzle in a rod holder. Fifty gallons later, the transom was full of gas. He cranked up and was idling back to the boat ramp when he lit a cigarette. That’s all he remembered. He had sustained serious burns on his legs and feet, but if he hadn’t been blown into the water, it could have killed him. Since then, the pores of his skin had not functioned properly, so he smelled bad all the time. Shortly after the explosion, his dark-haired girlfriend had dropped him and taken up with an offshore mechanic. As soon as Sweat recovered, he tracked her down and then beat her nearly to death. He had left Louisiana with a taste for abusing women. It was a release he craved. And this little half-naked teenage sorority bitch is just what I need.
Tiny acted seriously injured so Sweat would leave him alone. He could hear Sweat walking off in the gravel and mud. Sweat had landed several good shots to his ribs, and it burned when he tried to breathe. He got to his knees and thought, I can’t let him hurt that girl. He finally stood and, with no small amount of effort and pain, straightened up. He slowly shuffled to the four-wheeler and painfully swung a leg over the side. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking, watching Sweat walk after the girl. Where’s Reese, and where’s the dude who shot Johnny Lee? He cranked the four-wheeler, shifted into low gear, and eased his thumb on the gas.
Ollie finally caught up with R.C. as they crossed over Interstate 20. He fell in line and was drafting the same way the NASCAR drivers did on Sundays.
He spoke calmly into his microphone. “Miz Martha?”
“I’m here, Chief,” she replied. She was on a caffeine high and a nicotine buzz.
“Call the Beasley girl’s parents and make sure she isn’t home asleep, please. And don’t scare ‘em. I don’t know how to do it, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Yes sir,” she replied.
“R.C.? You copy?” Ollie asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Larson and Shug are on the way. Let’s approach silently.”
“Sure thing, Chief,” R.C. replied.
Ollie’s adrenaline was pumping. This was action, although he hated that it involved kids. This was why he had become a cop. He had idealistic notions of actually helping people who couldn’t help themselves.
Ollie had been driving in silence for almost twelve miles when his radio crackled.
“Ollie, I got the Beasleys. As you can imagine, they’re pretty shook up. I told them what we just found out and that you were all over it-not to worry. They’re on their way here.”
“OK…all right…get a Livingston police unit to escort them.”
“Ten-four. I’ve done it.” Martha typically stayed one or two steps ahead of everybody. It bothered some people. Ollie appreciated her efficiency, which had saved his butt on more than one occasion.
“Thanks, Miz Martha. As soon as I know anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Ten-four, Chief.”
The Beasleys are good folks, thought Ollie. Zach Beasley was a pillar of the community. He attended church every Sunday morning, belonged to the Rotary club, served on the school board, and could always be counted on for a donation whenever needed. The county needed more men like him. He didn’t really know Olivia Beasley that well.
Elizabeth’s mom had met Zach Beasley at a Campus Crusade for Christ retreat in Panama City. Within fourteen months, they were married and setting up house. After five years of marriage, they had not been able to get pregnant. Olivia started trying fertility drugs. After two years, Elizabeth came along, and they lavished their attention and affection on her. Olivia was never able to become pregnant again; consequently, Elizabeth was everything to them. Their whole lives revolved around this beautiful young girl. From the time she was born, she had always had the best of everything-the best clothes, the best kindergarten, the best bikes, ballet, piano, and more. Elizabeth responded to all the positive stimuli by being a great daughter. Her parents were very proud.
When Olivia heard the phone ring, she instinctively knew it was about Elizabeth. Elizabeth always came in and woke them up to tell them she was home after a date. She hadn’t tonight. After listening to Martha, she explained the situation to Zach. They both ran upstairs to look for Elizabeth. She wasn’t there. Olivia searched her mind for the last conversation she’d had with Elizabeth about her and Tanner going to Tuscaloosa and then coming back home. She called Elizabeth’s cell phone several times, getting only: “The subscriber you are trying to reach has either turned off their telephone or has left the coverage area. Please try your call again.” They dressed quickly and drove to the sheriff’s office.