Read Wounds for Free Online Page B

the dark interior.
    â€œPlease.” She held out a hand.
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œHe’s crazy. Please.”
    None of it made sense, but the pleading in her voice did the impossible: making the urgent even more so. “How many people are in the car?”
    â€œI have to leave. Please, please help me.”
    â€œCan you stand?”
    The car wobbled on the roof again.
    Ellis was out of his depth. He rose to his feet, bent, and set a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, but move slow. You’re hurt—”
    Something seized the back of his work shirt, yanking back with enough force to pull Ellis from his feet as if he weighed nothing. He stumbled back, landing on his rear. Pain ran from his tailbone to his neck. A man, wide in the shoulders with thick arms, hovered over Shelly.
    He shouted at her, fire on his lips, his words rolling up the canyon walls.
    The names he called her . . .
    The fury he displayed . . .
    The hatred in his wide eyes . . .
    Shelly raised a hand. “Please, don’t hurt me again.”
    â€œI told you! I told you not to mess with me. This is your fault. Your fault, you stupid—” He kicked her in the ribs, hard enough to lift her off the ground. She crumpled, her mouth open, gasping for air like a fish on a pier. The sight of the cruelty enraged Ellis. He scrambled to his feet.
    â€œHey!” Ellis charged.
    It was a brave effort but short lived. The attacker spun, fire in his eyes, blood running from his mouth and nose. He looked demonic. Ellis hesitated. The man did not. The first punch caught Ellis square on the nose. Fiery pain filled his head. He had never been punched before, never felt such pain. Another punch landed just below his ribs sending the air pouring from his lungs. Ellis doubled over. More pain raced up his back as a granite-like fist slammed into the area over his right kidney. Colors flashed in his eyes. Three more punches. Ellis went down on his knees. Hard.
    â€œWhen I finish with her, I’m coming after you.”
    Madness draped the assailant’s face. What stood before Ellis was not a teenager, but a man long lost of his senses. A torturer. A killer.
    Ellis sprinted to his car.
    He never looked back.
    After a night of sleepless hours, Ellis heard that the body of Shelly Rainmondi, student at Madison High School, was found along the side of the road. The police estimated her speed to be close to eighty as she rounded the corner. A tragic accident. An unfortunate result of teenage foolishness.
    Ellis knew better.

6
    Friday, March 29, 2013
    T he sun showed up for work at 6:41. As it did each morning, it waged war with the giant fir tree that dominated the tiny front yard of Carmen’s Mission Village bungalow home. The tree stood more than thirty-feet tall and had been planted by the home’s first owners. That would have been in the early sixties. Carmen would have been a toddler back then, and her sister even younger. She closed her eyes and tried to force the image of Shelly from her mind. Shelly had been dead for going on three decades; shouldn’t she be over it by now? No. Shelly traveled with her, lived with her, slept in the same bed, and occupied the same house, no matter where that house might be. Shelly was no ghost. She was worse: a persistent, vibrant memory that could touch each of Carmen’s senses. Carmen could hear her laugh as a child and as a teenager who grew more restless and rebellious each day.
    Carmen pulled her pillow over her face, a shield against the dim but unrelenting sunlight. A new day. Shelly loved sunrises more than sunsets. No matter how late she stayed out, she would rise early to watch the gold orb kick-start a new day. It drove Carmen crazy, then and now. Why leave a warm bed to watch something that happened every day? Carmen rose early only when her school schedule demanded it, or when she hadn’t finished her homework the night before. Any time she did get up