THE COTTAGE
Chapter 11
Ned’s head slowly cleared.
Two men in black rushed past, dragging Caroline between them. She was barely conscious.
“Take me!” he rasped. “Leave her alone!”
He struggled to his knees as blood dripped from his wounded shoulder. Fighting the dizziness, he lifted his head toward the car.
The license plate…
“Get up, old man,” he muttered to himself.
Helpless, he watched as Caroline was thrown into the trunk like old baggage.
“God… help her,” he pleaded.
The engine roared to life.
The car lurched forward.
As the second man slammed the door, he ripped off his balaclava and turned toward Ned with a sickening grin.
Something about the face…
Something disturbingly familiar.
A wave of nausea swept over Ned. His strength gave way, and he collapsed onto the walkway.
Just before darkness claimed him, he heard a gunshot.
Then a curse.
Running footsteps.
Everything faded into drifting clouds.
Tim sprinted after the speeding car until his legs gave out. He collapsed, gasping for breath, the pistol still in his hand.
“Caroline…” he choked.
Then he remembered Ned.
He spun around and raced back toward the cottage.
Ned lay motionless on the stone walkway.
Fear surged through Tim as he dropped to his knees beside him.
“Ned!”
There was no response.
“Stay with me, Ned. You don’t get to leave me, too.” The words escaped before he realized he had spoken them aloud. For a split second he wasn’t looking at Ned. He was kneeling beside another body, another road, another nightmare he had never escaped. He blinked hard and forced the memory away. “Not again,” he whispered. “I won’t lose anyone else.”
Tim slipped an arm beneath Ned’s shoulders and another under his knees. With a grunt, he lifted him and carried him into the cottage, leaving a trail of blood across the floor. He laid him gently on the living room sofa.
Racing to the kitchen, he grabbed several dish towels and pressed them firmly against the wound.
Ned groaned.
“You’ll be okay, Ned. I can at least do this for you.”
He wrapped another towel tightly around the wound to slow the bleeding.
“You need electrolytes, my friend. I’ll be right back. Try not to move.”
He searched the refrigerator frantically.
“Found it!”
Supporting Ned’s head, he held the bottle to his lips. Ned’s eyes fluttered open.
“I hate this stuff, Tim,” he mumbled.
“I know. Drink anyway.”
Ned managed several long swallows before drifting back toward unconsciousness.
Tim searched until he found Caroline’s first aid kit beneath the kitchen sink. Kneeling beside the sofa, he carefully cleaned and dressed the wound. It was a through-and-through shot. Tim wasn’t a doctor, but he had seen enough gunshot wounds to know Ned had been fortunate. After bandaging the shoulder securely, he fashioned a sling to keep the arm from moving.
Only then did Tim allow himself to stop.
He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of cold coffee, little more than the bitter dregs left in the pot yesterday.
Outside, dusk settled over the cottage as rain began to fall.
Caroline, he prayed silently. Please don’t let her be cold… or afraid.
He checked on Ned one last time. Soft snores filled the quiet room.
Tim sank into Ned’s worn armchair. Within moments, exhaustion claimed him.
Something stirred at the edge of his awareness. Movement. He was immediately on his feet, pistol already in his hand.
“Whoa, there, cowboy, it's just me, Tim.”
Ned's voice reached his ears. He staggered awake, shocked to see it was daylight. Had he slept that long?
Using his free hand, Ned lowered the pistol in Tim’s hand.
“The last thing I need is another bullet hole.” He managed a crooked grin. “Ouch,” he muttered.
“Lean on me, Ned,” Tim helped him to the kitchen. Every step cost Ned. His face had turned the color of old parchment, and sweat beaded across his forehead.
Tim kept a watchful eye on his friend. There was a bright red spot growing on his dressing. He placed a glass of orange juice on the table, along with two Naproxen. Ned smiled and popped the pills. Then he drank the juice.
“I can brew us a pot of coffee. What are you hungry for?”
“A horse perhaps.” He saw the look in Tim’s eyes. “ Just trying to keep it light a moment longer … before …” His voice trailed off.
“I know, Ned. Oatmeal?”
Ned didn't reply. The men grew quiet. Tim poured strong coffee, hot. Ned’s hand shook as he brought it to his lips.
“Need help?” Ned shook his head. Coffee splashed over, burning his hand. He didn't notice.
They ate plain oatmeal. The sun streamed through the window, but neither noticed.
Tim got a bucket and mop.
“Leave it! The blood stains can wait. The damned dishes can wait!!” His voice was a low roar.
Tim stared into Ned’s eyes, realizing he wasn't angry.
Ned put his face on the table, his body shaking from sobs. “I failed her,Tim.” His voice cracked. “I couldn't save my little girl. They got me first.”
Tim yearned to cry out, You're not the one who failed her, Ned. I let you both down!
But he swallowed the words like a bitter pill, nearly choking.
Instead, he stood beside Ned, resting his hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of comfort, hoping Ned wouldn't see his own tears.
The old cottage groaned in understanding, then grew quiet.
Ned tried to rise, but his body didn't obey his command.
“Okay, back to the sofa you go. You need a day’s rest, Ned. And I need to re-dress your shoulder.” Tim helped Ned to his feet.
Ned yelped in pain, “Let me do this on my own, son.”
A short time later, Tim brought in a tray and set it on the coffee table. On it was the Satellite phone, pistol, water, Naproxen, Gatorade, and a protein bar. Everything Ned might need.
“I'm going out for a bit, but before I do, I need to know what you remember from yesterday.”
Ned took a breath. He tried to collect his thoughts, but some things were still a blur He looked at Tim. “Well, when I left the barn, I saw the man in black and followed him as he disappeared around the front of the cottage. The kitchen light was on.” He paused. “Caroline was at the table.” His voice became husky. The water glass in his hand trembled.
Tim took it from him, placed it on the tray. He pulled the chair closer to Ned. “Go on.”
“I rounded the front the house. The man was at the front door, and Caroline … was … alone.” He looked into Tim’s eyes. “I panicked, Tim. In that moment, I wasn't an investigator, I was just her father.” He choked as tears came. He sank back into the sofa. Just a father.
Tim waited. He needed to act, but he needed more information. “So, the man in black shot you. I understand. I need more, Ned. Please, tell me what you remember after that? Anything?” He leaned closer. Now the two men were face to face.
Ned struggled for control. For memory. “Caroline in that man’s arms. He was gagging her. She was kicking, fighting him. I saw a syringe. She went slack. Another man. The car trunk. Oh, God, Caroline! I think that's when I blacked out.”
Tim straightened in his chair. He put a hand on Ned’s arm. “The syringe explains a lot. Rest now, Ned.” He stood to leave, placing the pistol in his waistband.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“Another gunshot.”
“Ned, that was me. I shot the man in the passenger seat. He slumped over. Maybe I … killed …” The words trailed off. It was hard for Tim to say the words.
“Before that. The man in the passenger seat took off his balaclava, like he wanted me to see his face. I've seen him somewhere … sometime. It's fuzzy … my brain.” He paused again.
Tim was pacing, impatient to get moving. Find Caroline!
“The license plate. It's a Nova Scotia plate. The first 3 letters are BFA.” He paused. Was that a flash of hope he saw, as Tim stopped pacing? He continued. “I only remember one of the three numbers. I thinks it’s a 2. It wasn't a U.S. plate, “So, now we have something to go on!”
Ned wasn't done. Some color had returned to his face. “There’s one thing I can't figure out, Tim. Why didn't they take me?”
“Because it wasn't you they were after.”
He looked at Ned.
“It was me!”
The room fell silent. Outside, a lone gull cried from somewhere beyond the trees. Neither man spoke. They finally understood the terrible truth.
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