Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

70. Margaret

SEVENTY

Margaret

T he erected festival stands rest empty behind me on Broad Street as I trudge uphill to my car after work. Fresh snow crunches under every labored step. The town, just two hours ago overflowing with celebration, is now eerily quiet at this late hour. Twinkle lights still outline every building but with the howling wind and lack of people their lonely beams inspire only goosebumps of the worst variety.

An unexpected noise startles me.

I cut a nervous glance around the street.

There’s no one here.

Only me.

Shivering, I continue onward, kicking myself for not arriving early so that I could find good parking. Since I was raised in this sleepy town I should have known better. Cars almost outnumber people during this particular holiday. Our festive reputation has spread far and wide, especially with the dawning of the Internet.

But I felt lazy today, slow starting.

I’ve been feeling lonely for some time.

Even coffee didn’t spark my feet.

With the United Methodist Church looming large as I turn right on Mill Street, I sigh with relief. Finally the wind will be blocked for a time. My car is just up ahead on Spring Street, so close I can almost see it.

I’m already planning how to get the snow off my windshield when two men stroll out from the inset of a darkened doorway. Surprised, I glance between them and freeze as they block my way. I don’t recognize them, and I know most everyone who lives here. Terror launches into my limbs and torso. I try to scream but my voice has abandoned me. All that comes out is a squeak.

“Look at the pretty redhead, Bobby!”

“Aren’t we lucky. Where ya going, precious? It’s kinda late for a walk.”

“It sure is!” the other says, his grin so ugly I feel vomit rise.

Maybe if I’m nice, they’ll move.

Maybe this isn’t happening.

Maybe I’ll be okay.

Don’t upset them, Margaret.

“I’m just going to my car,” I croak.

They cock their heads and advance on me as I walk backwards matching their pace, but it builds.

“Why don’t you take us with you?” one sneers, a knife appearing in his hand as if from out of nowhere. He’d been holding it behind his back, and at the sight of it I trip and almost fall.

“Please leave me alone!”

“Whoa now, careful! Wouldn’t want your pretty face all bruised up. At least, not yet.”

“Oh my God,” I croak, turning to run. But two violent pairs of hands grab me into submission and drag my fighting legs back to the darkened doorframe where they’d been hiding. The church is dark and empty. As they laugh and mutter horrible things about the irony of where they’ve chosen to rape me, one yanks my glasses off my nose and crushes them so I can’t see. I cry out as my hair is pulled and my long skirt pushed up. They egg each other on with words that dull and blur. I’m going far away now, deep into myself, to a place they cannot touch…