Drawn Into Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

and a sickening scream, like nothing I had ever heard before, not human. Two more pops, then silence.
    It took me a few heartbeats to get it.
    The gun. Oh, my God, the gun.
    â€œNo!” I cried, or tried to cry out; with the knot of cloth in my mouth I managed only a muffled, distorted yawp. Frantically I thrashed against what must have been handcuffs around my wrists and ankles, trying to rip myself loose and run to my dog, for all the good that would do. Behind the gag of denial in my mind, I knew that Schweitzer, my “reverence for life” dog, lay bloody and dying. Yanking harder, I felt my restraints cut my skin; now I was bleeding too.
    Justin came running in. “Stop it!” he exclaimed with no threat in his voice; he sounded frightened. Grabbing my shoulders to hold me down, his face hovering over mine, he begged, “Stop it, ma’am. Fighting only makes it worse. Believe me.”
    I looked up at him, and as if what had happened to Schweitzer were not bad enough, I saw something unspeakable shadowing his eyes. There was nothing blank about this boy. I stopped struggling, but my body still heaved, now with hurtful sobs. My ribs and belly ached, I cried so hard.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Justin said, “I’m sorry,” as if it were all his fault. “Lie still.” He disappeared someplace and came back with a box of tissues plus a moistened washcloth. Sitting on the edge of my bed, he wiped snot and tears from my face, pulled the knotted gag out of my mouth and tucked it under my chin, then helped me blow my nose. “Please try to calm down before Uncle Steve gets back,” he urged, folding the washcloth to lay its cool, clean side on my forehead. “I have no idea what he’ll do if you cry. He hates women.”
    That statement instantly stopped my bawling. It made a soldier of me. I am woman, hear me roar. I stared up at Justin. “He’s not your uncle,” I stated with barely a quiver in my voice.
    â€œI’ve got to call him that.”
    â€œYou’re not a woman, but I bet he likes to make you cry too.”
    Justin did not reply except with shifting eyes. With a fresh tissue he swabbed my face like the deck of a storm-drenched ship.
    I said, “Justin, what about your mother? Do you want her to keep crying?”
    â€œDon’t talk about my mother.”
    â€œWhy are you still here? Your family wants you back. What are you waiting for?”
    He shook his head, stood up, and went to look out a window toward my house. Then he disappeared into some other part of the shack and came back again with a roll of gauze. Moving quickly, he started wrapping my ankle where the handcuffs—I couldn’t see the handcuffs, but that’s what the metal things had to be—where they had cut and bloodied me.
    â€œJustin—” I started to question him again.
    â€œDon’t talk.” He shoved the gag back into my mouth. “I have to hurry and do this.”
    He had finished my ankles and was starting on one wrist when we heard the door open. I stiffened. Justin kept on wrapping gauze. I heard footsteps stop at the bedroom door. Stoat demanded, “Whatcha doing that for?”
    â€œYou want her to bleed all over the mattress?” Justin’s soft, husky voice made this retort sound peaceable enough.
    I could not see Stoat and did not want to look at him, but I imagined he’d decided in Justin’s favor during a long, silent moment. He gave a raspy laugh. “She threw a fit when I shot her dog, huh?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Justin said tonelessly, bandaging my other wrist.
    â€œWell, I didn’t do it out of meanness. You know that. She should know that. It was the only sensible way to take care of the dog, what with him yapping all the time till somebody might notice.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAnd if the damn dog would have stood still, it would only have taken one shot.”
    â€œYes,