Shooting Cheryl
She screamed as I fired the gun, and began to cry as the bullet entered her body. I didn't like shooting a woman, especially one as pretty as Cheryl. But I had no choice. Bud and Wes freaked out as they heard the scream, and declined my offer to let them fire another shot to finish her off, or even to stick around and watch her die.
"We'll take your word for it," Wes said, and Bud agreed. "Make sure no one ever finds her body. I don't care where you bury it or even what you do to it." Bud was white as a sheet as he stormed out the door ahead of Wes. Wes didn't look much better.
"I'll take care of everything," I said.
Wes and Bud heard another two shots as they got into their car and spun around in the yard before leaving.
"They're gone," Cheryl said, while I wrapped a bandage around her ankle, where I had shot her.
"Yeah," I said. "I just hope they believe I really killed you."
"We can't stick around here," she said. "They'll come back."
"I have a safe house a few miles from here." Wes and Bud were idiots, but you could count on them coming back just to be sure. I did not bother to wipe up Cheryl's blood. Instead, I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. Because of the bandage, there would be no trail of blood going out the door, and that might draw suspicion, but Wes and Bud were not the sharpest knives in the drawer. I tossed Cheryl into the back of my cargo van, hoping that nobody was watching but reasonably confident that if Wes and Bud did see me, there would be nothing to arouse their suspicions. I didn't expect any cops to be around this time of night, and there were no neighbors close by, either.
I drove a circuitous route to the safe house, hoping not to be followed. A couple of cars passed me going the other way, but nothing looking like Wes's Jeep or Bud's VW Beetle. I checked my mirrors to see if I was being followed. Nothing.
Half an hour later, I pulled my van up to the safe house, a two-story Victorian in an old part of a small town. I paid the property taxes on it, while the elderly couple who had owned and lived in it all their lives let me use the upstairs and attic for my purposes. As far as they were concerned, I hardly existed.
The house was dark, but I knew it well enough to feel my way up the back staircase and carry Cheryl to the attic bedroom. The shades were closed as I turned on a couple of night lights to help her familiarize herself with the place. "I need to move the van, but I'll be back in a little while. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, go on," said Cheryl. "Anything to eat here?"
"Check the little cupboards." I pointed to some small enclosed shelves above the foot of the bed. "There should be something cold to drink in the refrigerator."
I gave her a kiss and I was gone. I moved the van to a parking lot where a few other cars were parked for the night, then walked back to the the old house, reasonably confident no one was following or watching me.
Cheryl was finishing her snack when I got back. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay, but it hurts like hell," she said.
"I know a doctor who can take the bullet out tomorrow. You should be on your feet in a few days. In the meantime, it's best you stay put. I don't want Wes or Bud to see you around now that you're supposed to be dead."
"Sounds fine to me. How will I get to the doctor--is he coming here?"
"He owes me a favor or two," I said.
"Are you gonna kill Wes and Bud?"
"There's enough evidence to convict them of kidnapping you. At first, they'll try to defend themselves by saying there's no evidence, your body can't be found. As the police find more evidence of your being kidnapped, they may decide Wes and Bud also killed you."
"Won't they turn you in?"
"They don't know my real name, or even what I really look like."
"That's true." Cheryl laughed. "What a couple of geeks. They couldn't even shoot me."
"Lucky for you."
"Lucky for us. Let's go to bed, Mr. Wilkins."
"As you wish, Mrs. Wilkins."
Home©Story Page, 2000