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Chapter Thirty-Six
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2024-10-29 19:42:56MARTHA AIMLESSLY SURFED the TV channels while waiting to hear from Richard. When the phone rang, she snapped it up immediately.
“Hello?”
“Martha, this is Sydney Deagan.”
“Hey! Richard told me he’d seen you. How’ve you been?”
“I just called his cell phone and someone else answered.”
Martha pushed up in the bed. “Are you sure you called the right number?”
“Yes!”
“He went to Wrightsville Beach to do something for me.”
“I know, but something must have gone wrong.”
The TV station broke into their regular programming with a special report. “Hold on a second,” Martha said. “There’s something’s happening on TV.” Martha raised the volume.
“...body of a young female was discovered just minutes ago behind a restaurant in Wrightsville Beach. Police at this time have
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SYDNEY DROVE SLOWLY up the beach highway as she and Martha scrutinized the houses along the oceanfront looking for Richard’s bike. Cars backed up behind them and gunned around them when opportunities arose.“It’s got to be somewhere along here,” Martha whispered. “It’s not much farther to the end of the road.”An impatient driver pulled out to pass just as a pair of headlights up the road turned onto the highway facing them. But instead of pulling back in behind her, the car sped up in an effort to get around her and abruptly veered to the right cutting them off. Jerking the wheel to the right, Sydney locked the brakes, her van skidding off the highway bouncing to a stop in deep sand as the two opposing cars continued on, as though nothing had happened.Sydney whispered, “You okay?”Pulling on the handle above her door, Martha winced. “I think so.”Restarting the engine, Sydney tried
My Sister's Keeper Chapter Thirty-Eight
A FEW MILES NORTH of Wilmington on US 17, Bonner turned into a new subdivision under construction. He rolled past numbered stakes, road-building equipment, utility connection boxes, and new curbing to where the pavement ended and the road surface turned to rock. But the rock was hard and the shovels were of little use against it. Bonner tossed his aside, climbed on a nearby backhoe, and started the engine. He fiddled with the controls learning what each does, then clumsily maneuvered the machine to the spot they’d tried to dig, lowered its giant scoop to the rock, and powered it into the dirt. The engine groaned and the machine rose off the ground and warbled against the strain, but it dug into the rocks and opened a hole in the dirt. Moving levers back and forth, Bonner raised the scoop, shifted it to the side, and released the dirt away from the hole.“I think I got it now!” he shouted over the roaring of the engine. He swung the scoop back over the hole,
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DANE BONNER TURNED OFF Highway 133 west of Wilmington near Kendall Chapel and guided his Escalade through thick brush along an overgrown dirt trail leading back to a nineteenth-century farm house. He’d stolen the property from a client that had gotten the death penalty for the rape, torture, and murder of an eleven-year-old boy the man had picked up hitch-hiking. Although it was located in Brunswick County, it was just minutes from Wilmington along the western side of the lower Cape Fear River—a tract he now called “The Bonner Place.”The two-story frame house had been built in the late 1800s and had been wired for electricity later with exposed cables running up and down the outside of the house. The barns and sheds had been added in the more affluent 1950s. Behind the barn, there was a bulkhead and dock on the river. He got out of his car, pulled open the front doors to the barn, and parked the car inside.Bonner lit a kerosene lantern, unbolt
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AS THE WHITE LIGHT FADED, I could see the doctor and nurses working around me. I lay lifeless on my back with my arms at my sides, my pants and shirt gone. A doctor scrubbed two paddles together and placed them on either side of my bare chest. Everyone stepped back.“Clear!”A tone sounded and as the capacitors discharged, the lights dimmed and my body jolted off the gurney. I had the revolting sensation of being sucked through a tunnel and slammed into a concrete wall. Then it happened again.“Clear!”Again, the capacitors discharged. Lightning streaked through my brain and my heart vaulted. Faces and events streamed by. Mom, Dad, and me. My sister jumping in the surf at the beach. Sydney at thirteen, ducking away from me laughing and running. Martha in cap and gown crossing a stage. An ivy-covered gravestone. Winston sitting in a car outside the fence at the Little League park watching my first time at bat. His face dark. His eye
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ASHLEIGH MATTHEWS SAT in a waiting room at Duke University Medical Center idly flipping through the pages of a dog-eared copy of Cosmopolitan. The only other person in the room—a man—surfed the channels on a TV mounted high on a wall.Her brother David had been in surgery for five hours and she’d heard nothing from the doctor. She dropped the magazine on the seat next to her and walked to the nurse’s station. “Have you heard anything about how things are going with David’s operation? How much longer it might be?”“The doctor will come and speak with you just as soon as he’s out of surgery.”“Does it usually take this long?”“What they’re doing with David? Yes.”“Thank you.”Ashleigh paced to a window, stopped, and scanned the view. The TV paused on each channel just long enough to hear six or seven words before jumping to another. She addres
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MARTHA QUERIED AN ON-LINE phone directory for the Methodist Home for Boys in Yonkers, dialed the number it gave her, and asked to speak to someone about a former student. After several minutes, a deep, gravelly voice came on the line.“This is Geoffrey Lord. How can I help you?”“Mr. Lord, my name is Martha Baimbridge. I’m looking for a former resident of the home who was there back in the 1980s. A man named Dane Bonner?”The man remained silent for a moment. “From where are you calling?”“North Carolina.”“So, Dane Bonner still lives.”“Then, you do remember him.”“Miss, I remember every kid that passes through here. Especially the troublemakers. Bonner came with a lot of baggage and left with a lot of baggage. Probably the most emotionally crippled child to ever leave here. Killed his own father when he was nine. Hacked him up with a Cub Sco
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THE FIRE NOW CONSUMED the barn and licked high into the air. The cold water slowly filling the barrel helped to cool our brains, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it would eventually drown us. Ten minutes tops. Our only hope was a gun that wouldn’t fire even if I could get to it. And what would I shoot to get us out? More holes and we’d drown quicker.My right arm was pinned, but I could move my left…slightly. Sydney’s legs were wedged back against her chest and I was squashed against them upside down. Our heads rested near one another, mine bent under with my abdomen pressed against the back of her calves. I worked my hand down my left side and tried to find a way to get around her legs to her waist. The water was now midway up my thighs. Sydney had gone quiet—passed out from pain, heat, loss of blood, or a lack of oxygen. But she was still alive. I could feel her expand…occasionally…to take a breath of the r
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THE TEMPERATURE INSIDE THE DRUM instantly began to rise and my claustrophobia drove me into a panic. Without air, we would suffocate in minutes. There was light coming through the opaque sides and I could see shadows moving around it as the drum tipped and fell on its side slamming us against the hard shell. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it. A drum within a drum. Fear gripped me, its sharp spears ripping my senses. I pressed my knees against the lid and pushed. My muscles cramped, but nothing gave way.Scott’s shadow fell over the barrel and I could hear his clothes rubbing against it as we began to roll—the heavy container crunching the ground like shoes on soft rocks. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Baimbridge?” he grunted. “You and Sydney together forever? Is that what you wanted, Baimbridge?”The tank turned another revolution. My right arm was locked behind my back, and I could barely move my left. The temper
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IN MY MIND, I SAW MYSELF LEAP from the shadows and lock my hands around his neck. I saw the shock in his blood-streaked eyes as I choked the life out of him with my bare hands. I felt panic ripple through his body as he realized that he was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. In one glorious flicker of thought, I watched him die in my hands. But death would be too good for Scott—or Dane Bonner—or whoever the hell he was. I wanted him to suffer as my sister had, to know her pain, to curse my name every time his cell door closed for the rest of his tortured life.As his shadow followed him into the barn, I grasped a chunk of firewood, flattened myself against the rear of the building, and trod on quaking legs to the edge of the doorway. Drunk on hate, I didn’t care about the law. I didn’t care about the other lives he’d torn apart. He had destroyed my sister and I wanted to punish him for it. I wanted to be the one t
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MARTHA HELD ME TOGETHER all through high school when my relationship with Dad had totally come apart. What a blessing that was. No person should have to live without a sibling. If I ever have children, there’ll be at least two. But even with Martha there supporting me emotionally, I’d not been complete.Until Sydney.With Sydney, I felt I’d come full circle. As if she’d taken hold of my spine and given me some sort of adjustment. A spiritual realignment. My breathing slowed. My muscles relaxed. I felt a presence within me that had long been missing—a thousand voices singing.Looking at her leaning against the carved headboard of her bed holding a sheet to her breasts, I felt I was looking more into her than at her. I wanted her heart more than I wanted air to breathe.“Come home with me,” I said. “Have dinner with me. Have breakfast with me. Bring a plant if you like. I don’t
My Sister's Keeper Chapter Fifty-Two
TIFFANY FOUND THE NOTE and the key, and immediately ripped the tags off a new string bikini her mother would never have allowed her to wear. Strutting about under the watchful eyes of every man on the dock, she cranked the engine, brought in the lines, shoved the magnificent sailboat off, and motored Steal Away out to the channel where she found a strong southerly breeze—perfect for a reach down the river.Bringing the vessel about, she headed directly into the wind, set the brake on the wheel, and raised the mizzen to steady the boat. Electing to keep the mainsail furled, she climbed barefooted onto the roof of the cabin, sidled toward the bow, and—bending her knees as the vessel rose to meet each wave—reached to the low side and tugged the line to release the jib. As the massive sail unrolled like a window shade, its bitter end flapped loosely in the wind, snapping and popping against the mainmast, sending her heart to racing as she jumped back to
