Your Turn to Suffer by Tim Waggoner (free romance novels .TXT) 📗

his car – ashen face, wide, staring eyes – and then the Volvo flashed past her, veered toward a parked minivan and slammed into it head-on. She continued running, not looking back to check what was happening, wanting only to get as far away from danger as fast as she could. She heard a tremendous crash of metal striking metal, the impact so loud and violent that the vibrations in the air made her teeth rattle. The Volvo’s engine cut out then, and aside from the soft ticking sounds coming from beneath its crumpled hood, there was silence.

Believing that the worst of the danger had passed, Lori stopped running and, more than a little winded, turned to see what had happened. The Volvo had plowed into the minivan so hard that it appeared as if the two vehicles had fused into a single mass of twisted metal. The air was thick with the scent of engine exhaust and burning oil, as well as the tang of spilled gasoline from the Volvo’s ruptured tank. She knew she should stay back, should call nine-one-one and report the accident, but she found herself hurrying toward the damaged vehicles in case someone was hurt – which seemed more than likely – and needed assistance.

When she reached the Volvo, she saw that the driver had been wearing his seat belt and remained buckled into place. The vehicle’s airbags had activated, but they were already mostly deflated, their work done. The impact had driven the dashboard inward, and the steering wheel now pressed tight against the driver’s chest. Even with the protection of the airbag, it looked as if he’d been badly injured. Besides being pinned back against the seat by the steering wheel, his head had smashed into the driver’s-side window. The impact had broken the glass, and most of it had fallen to the ground, giving her an unobstructed view of the large bleeding gash over the man’s left temple. He was bleeding from his mouth, too. She didn’t know if that was due to internal injuries he’d sustained or if he’d bitten his tongue during the collision. But as bad as those injuries looked, she could tell by his pallor and the way he was struggling for breath that he was probably having a heart attack. She didn’t know if the attack had caused him to veer wildly into the parking lot or if the attack had been brought on by the accident, but either way, he was in serious trouble.

“Hold on,” she said. “I’ll call for help.”

As she pulled her phone from her purse, she gave the van a quick glance and was relieved to see it appeared unoccupied. She quickly called nine-one-one, but as it began ringing on the other end, the man’s head flopped to the side and he looked up at her.

“Her…eyes…” he whispered, “like a…goat’s.” This was followed by a hissing exhalation of air, and although his own eyes remained open, Lori no longer saw any sign of life in them.

A woman’s voice spoke in her ear.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

Lori tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come.

Her…eyes…like a…goat’s.

She felt a sick crawling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She continued holding the phone to her ear, and she heard the dispatcher repeat herself, more loudly this time.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

Lori still couldn’t answer. She had the sensation she was being watched, and she looked around. Cars on the street were passing by slowly as their drivers tried to get a good look at the accident and satisfy their morbid curiosity. A few drivers had pulled to the side of the road, and a couple were getting out of their cars, probably intending to offer what help they could. She didn’t pay attention to any of the witnesses or looky-loos. Her attention was focused on the goat-eyed woman who stood on the sidewalk next to the street, staring at her. The woman’s mouth moved, and although she was too far away for Lori to make out her words, she knew what she said.

Confess and atone – or suffer.

* * *

As the prime witness to the accident, Lori had to stay at FoodSaver and give a statement to the police officers who arrived to investigate. She told them everything that had happened – except for seeing the shadowy figure and the goat-eyed woman. She told herself the woman had nothing to do with the accident, and as for the shadow thing…it had only been a product of her imagination. Besides, she feared the officers would think she was crazy if she told them about the encounters.

When the officers were finished taking her statement, they asked her to remain at the scene in case they had more questions. Lori said she would – she was too shaken up to drive yet anyway – and she sat on the sidewalk outside the store, back against a brick wall, knees hugged to her chest, purse on the ground next to her. She felt a headache coming on, and she dry swallowed a Fiorinal in hopes of forestalling it. She watched as a pair of paramedics removed the old man from his Volvo, laid him on the ground, and began CPR. A layperson might’ve wondered why they bothered, but Lori knew that as long as someone wasn’t obviously beyond saving – like if they were decapitated – paramedics would do everything they could to revive that person for as long as they could, just on the chance their efforts might save his or her life. Lori feared the old man was beyond medical help, though.

Before he’d died, the old man had spoken about goat eyes. Lori was certain he’d been speaking of the same woman who’d confronted her inside the grocery, but there was no sign of her now. A small crowd had gathered to watch the police and paramedics do their work, but the goat-eyed woman wasn’t among them. That was a huge relief. Lori didn’t think she’d be able to stand