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Grafted into Deceit

By Sherri Wilson Johnson

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Marina Acres opened her eyes to utter darkness, except for the sliver of mid-November moonlight which crept its way between the almost-bare branches of overhanging trees. Her ‘85 BMW lay on the driver’s side in an overgrown ditch smashed against a telephone pole. If her seatbelt hadn’t restrained her, she’d probably have gone through the shattered windshield when her car wrecked on her way back to the office.
Lifting a trembling hand to her aching forehead, she tried to recall what had happened. Then a warm droplet of something landed on Marina’s temple, trailed its way down her right cheek, and trickled into her mouth. The question of what had happened no longer seemed to be important. Blood poured from her head, and she needed help. She spat and wiped the metallic substance off her tongue with a shiver.
“Help! Can anybody hear me?”
The engine hissed echoing her cry for help.
Marina held her breath and resisted the pungent smoke billowing from beneath the hood and the gasoline fumes which leaked into the car. Another shiver coursed its way through her as blistering pain penetrated her right leg all the way to the bone. The coffee she’d brought with her from the restaurant in Lewistown must have spilled and scalded her when she crashed.
How had she crashed?
She closed her eyes and tried to remember how she’d gotten here in the ditch. She wasn’t far from her landscaping business’s property. Was she? The last thing she remembered was passing the entrance to the O’Reilly’s Southern Hope ranch, which was adjacent to her business.
Another droplet, thick and sticky, assaulted her face, barged its way into her personal space, and forced her eyes open again. She crinkled her brow but winced when more pain sliced across her forehead. Steam from the engine wafted in the wind, and her gaze landed on something which jutted through the passenger’s side of her cracked windshield.
A man!
“Oh no!” She locked her hands over her mouth and fought not to lose consciousness and the contents of her stomach.
Who is he?
Her suspicions that someone was using her landscaping company’s money for personal gain had haunted her every waking moment for months. The feeling that something was on the verge of happening had brought her back tonight. Could this guy be part of whatever might be going on at the nursery? Why else would someone be on foot all the way out here away from the town at night?
“Hey, man, are you okay? Please, answer me.” She stretched out her quivering arms, but because of the seatbelt, which no longer represented security but confinement instead, she couldn’t reach him to see if he was alive. She jerked the strap and pressed the release button six, seven, eight times until finally her trembling fingers succeeded, and the seatbelt dropped her with a thud against the driver’s side door.
She reached out to the man—was he dead?—but her arms quaked, and she couldn’t get enough leverage to push her way to him. She needed to rest and get her strength, then she could help him.
Marina closed her eyes to make it all go away if only for a minute, but in the distance, a dog’s howl startled her and invaded her attempt at peace. Head pounding, her heart hammered against her ribs. She sucked in a deep breath. “Ouch!” Heat seared through her rib cage. “Mister, wake up and answer me. Are you okay?”
Nothing. Not even a groan.
Hot tears stung her cheeks. This injured man’s life was in her hands, and she had to get help. And if he was already dead, she refused to linger here all night and remain trapped with him less than three feet from her. Besides, if she’d learned anything in life, it was that predicaments like this didn’t miraculously go away, and rescuers rarely came.
She didn’t bother checking her cell phone for bars because this patch of Elm Grove Road never had a signal.
After another painful breath, she clenched her fists and focused on her mission. “Okay, think.” She needed to escape this prison and make it across the road and down to her business’s mile-long gravel drive. Then she could use the landline and call 911 once she made it to the office. Even though no one was there to help, she preferred this option because the O’Reilly’s driveway was much longer than hers, and she’d never make it that far in her condition.
Again, she called out to the man suspended in her windshield, but as his blood dripped on her and he remained silent, her heart realized what her head already knew—she’d killed him.
Daddy had told her on more than one occasion she was a fighter. “You’re strong. You can conquer what you put your mind to,” he’d said.
She’d never believed him because she’d failed so many times. She’d made countless wrong decisions. She’d trusted her gut too often and now didn’t trust even herself.
But if she didn’t trust herself right now, she’d be stuck in this car until tomorrow. “I’ve got to at least try to get out of this situation.” Marina hoisted her body up in the seat, the door her new floor, and ignoring her own discomfort, nudged the man’s shoulder.
Nothing.
She peered into his bloody but now recognizable face and gasped. “Jason? Oh my … What are you doing here?” Why had Jason Burney been running across the street? Why was he on her property at night … or here at all? Even though he was best friends with Mack, Iris’s husband, he had no purpose for being all the way out here. He didn’t live near here. He didn’t work for their company. “Jason? Are you okay?” Still, silence.
“I’ve got to get out of here!” She brushed her blood-soaked hair from her face then searched for her purse. Not finding it in the front seat where she always kept it, she grabbed her ribs then twisted around to the backseat. Although she couldn’t see much in the dimness, she spotted the purse on the back floorboard and stretched until she touched the straps. Her habit of zipping her purse like Mom always advised in the event of a wreck had kept its contents from spilling out onto the floorboard.
With a deep breath, she retrieved her keys from the ignition, stood, making sure not to brush against Jason, then cranked down the passenger’s side window. Never had she considered the manual features in her vintage BMW a gift—until now. Breaking the glass would have been difficult for her and could have kept her from escaping.
She could maneuver this veritable obstacle course better if barefooted, so she kicked off her heels and pushed up to the open window. Blood rolled down the side of her nose and landed on her lips. She wiped it away and slid her fingers along her hairline. Shards of glass protruded out of her scalp. Was the glass from Jason’s crash through the windshield or had she hit it? Right now, it didn’t matter.
Marina pulled until her upper body rested in the open passenger’s window and refused to let her pain hold her back anymore. She was closer than ever to finding help.
Her foot slipped, and she almost fell back into the car. “Focus, Marina.” She found her footing again, her leg brushing against Jason’s lifeless body. A shudder ran through her, but she pulled all the way out and rested on the door to catch her breath.
There was no easy way to throw herself off the car into the clearing below, so she slid into a crouch and lunged to the soggy earth. By some miracle, she avoided the car’s hot underbelly, but her ankle gave way, and an overdue scream ripped from her throat. She threw her hands over her bloodied face in response. No way would she now run in the Thanksgiving 5K she’d been training for the last three months.
Both legs quaked, and her right thigh stung beyond comprehension as she clung to the slippery, leaf-covered slope. Refusing to accept defeat, she hobbled up the embankment and made it to the edge of the road where the bridge over Beaver Creek began.
At the road, headlights appeared in the distance. Marina scrambled to her bare feet and waved her arms. Maybe Rex and Cora O’Reilly or his brother Matt headed home from Lewistown. “Help! Over here!”
A rumbling old truck barreled toward her and increased its speed. This wasn’t anyone from the O’Reilly ranch. Instead of running back into the ditch, Marina limped to the other side of the road and closer to her company’s driveway to get out of the truck’s way. What were they doing?
When the driver revved the engine and crossed the yellow line with her as his target, Marina dove off the side of the low-lying bridge into the creek, somehow escaping the bullets which whizzed by her. She landed with a thud at the base of the bridge, her feet settling in the cold, shallow creek. When her chin met the shoreline, her teeth pierced her bottom lip. Blood mingled in her mouth with grass, decaying leaves, and red Georgia clay creating a revolting salty and acidic concoction.
She tried to breathe, spitting to clear her mouth of debris, but nothing happened, except fear and pain shot through her. With her last bit of energy, she rolled on to her back and gasped. When a small dose of crucial oxygen filtered into her lungs, the pricks and needles from adrenaline left her extremities. Pulling her feet out of the chilling water, she folded her arms across her stomach and basked in the life-giving air. She’d rest for a minute and then cross the creek. She should get to her office in twenty minutes.
What was with that driver? She’d waved to flag him down, but he zoomed by, swerving to miss her at the last moment. If she hadn’t bolted for the other side of the road and dove off the bridge, he’d have hit her. How could he have misunderstood her need for help? At least the bridge wasn’t high above the creek, or she could have made a fatal mistake when she jumped.
Wait!
The driver had swerved toward her intentionally. Someone in that truck had shot at her. Lying on the ground when someone wanted her dead—who wanted her dead?—would make her too easy a target. Her attacker could be on his way back now to make sure he’d killed her.
From somewhere in the woods, an owl called to its mate with its haunting voice. Why didn’t she have somebody to cry out to in her desperation? God wasn’t supposed to give someone more than they could handle, but this night proved that statement wrong. And the night wasn’t over yet.
A crack of a branch came from somewhere in the woods. Marina held her breath and lowered her legs to the grassy bank. Blood rushed to her head, and she almost passed out. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t be a victim one moment longer. Safety was a priority.
Another pop came from the woods across the creek. The same truck whipped into her company’s drive, and someone bolted out of the woods and jumped into it. Then before she could attempt to get a good look at the make and model in the dim moonlight, the truck disappeared.
Sitting up, she stretched her skirt over her chilled legs and brushed her hair out of her eyes. With effort, she leaned forward and retrieved her purse from the edge of the creek, withdrew her phone, and screamed. A soaked phone did her no good. Useless. If she didn’t make it to the office, she could forget about rescue and about getting Jason’s body out of her car.
As she stood, a black SUV whipped into the gravel drive and came to a powerful stop sending gravel and dust flying everywhere. She shimmied up the bank and hid behind a cluster of crimson-leafed dogwood trees. A bright beam of light scanned the edge of the water and the area surrounding the bridge. Clinging to the rough bark, Marina peeked around the side of the tree and held her breath again.
“Is someone out here?” a deep baritone voice called in the night. “This is the police.”
Was this man with the police or was he a part of whatever had gone on here tonight? What were the chances a cop would be out here right when the attempt on her life took place?
“Come out from behind there.” The beam of light swung from left to right and then settled on her face.
Marina held her hand up to shield her eyes and limped away from the tree. “Show me your badge. After what I’ve just been through, convince me you’re someone I can trust.”
The man extinguished the light and switched on a flashlight. “I’m coming over to you. Show me your hands.” The gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he closed the distance.
Grimacing, she raised her hands above her head. In the dim light of the moon, the SUV, big and intimidating, looked official, but then again, it could be anybody’s SUV. The supposed officer reached her, and she stepped back. “Sir, your badge?”
He lowered his flashlight so it no longer glared at her, tightened his jaw, and narrowed his eyes. Assessing their surroundings, he sighed and then pushed his suit coat aside to reveal the badge secured to his belt.
Marina swallowed down the bile which had risen in her throat. “Sir, I wrecked on the other side of the road, and I think I’ve broken my ribs. May I put my hands down?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He slid a notepad and pen from his right exterior pocket and flipped the pad open to a fresh page. He widened his stance and pulled back his shoulders then studied her face in the shadows.
Marina held his gaze without blinking. Kindness swept over his whiskered face. He believed her.
“Ma’am, I’m Detective Pennington with the Narcotics Unit. What’s your name?”
Marina lowered her hands and brushed blades of dried grass from her skirt. Narcotics? What was a narcotics officer doing out here? Her legs trembled and matched the quaking in her gut. He might know something that confirmed her suspicions.
“Marina Acres. I own the landscaping business at the end of the drive, back in the woods there.” She indicated with a tilt of her head.
The detective directed the flashlight at her feet and back to her face then positioned it not to blind her. “And you’d just left for the night?”
She tried to relax her shoulders, but fear still wound its way around her neck and threatened to choke her.
“Ma’am?”
She cleared her thoughts with a shake of her head. “No, I came back after a meeting to get some files I forgot when I left for the day.” The partial truth. She couldn’t tell him she’d come back to catch her employees stealing from her.
If she hadn’t planned to dig into the cause of her company’s missing money over the weekend, she would’ve waited until Monday to return for the files. If she hadn’t been distracted by Iris’s last-minute instructions before leaving on her fall vacation, she wouldn’t have forgotten them in the first place. And she wouldn’t have wrecked. But she couldn’t undo what was already done.
Besides, something in her gut had made her come back tonight. And her intuitions were dead on. Why else would Jason be anywhere near her property and running from someone? Why else would a narcotics cop be out here?
“How did you end up like this?” He surveyed her again.
She squeezed her eyes and blinked away fresh tears. “Someone shot at me and almost ran over me with their truck.” Covering her face with her hands, she sobbed.
“Someone shot at you? Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know who?”
“No, sir.”
“I was in pursuit of that truck, but when I saw you go over the bridge and turned around to see if you were okay, I lost them. Why were you in the middle of the road at night?”
“You were pursuing them?” She trembled. “None of this makes sense. Like I said, I was heading back to my office. I’d almost made it there. When I crossed the bridge, Jason Burney, a guy I barely know, ran out in front of me . . . and I hit him.” Marina pointed across the road. “I lost control of my car, and it spun off into the ditch. I used every ounce of strength I had to climb out and make it to the road. Then the one person I thought would help me ran me down and shot at me.”
Marina shivered then tried to steady herself.
The detective glanced up from his notetaking. “You hit someone?”
She gulped. “Yes, sir. I guess I hit my head on the steering wheel, and when I woke—when I woke up, Jason was sticking through my windshield. After I freed myself from the seatbelt, I climbed up to see if he was alive.”
He crinkled his brow. “And?”
She shook her head. “He’s dead.” Tears sprung from her eyes, and she melted to the ground in a wounded heap.
“Were you speeding?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No, sir,” her voice cracked.
He knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Acres, I’m going to secure you in my car then I can call an ambulance and check on the man you hit. We’ll get you and him to the hospital as soon as possible.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home.”
“Ma’am, you have to go. You could have broken bones or a concussion.”
“Am I going to jail?”
“If this was an accident and you weren’t driving under the influence, there’s no reason to arrest you.”
She withdrew her hands from her face and soaked in the softness of his gaze. Although the darkness masked the color of his eyes, they spilled over with kindness and steadied her heartbeat. A reassurance of safety flooded over her—something she hadn’t felt in a while.
“Come on. Let’s get to my car.” He stood and reached out his hand to her. She took it and allowed him to help her stand.
A blast of gunfire blazed past them. The detective shoved her to the ground and covered her body with his. He fired a few rounds from his gun, and the truck careened down the embankment. It smashed into the dogwood trees, inches from where moments before she’d stood. Scarlet and crimson dogwood leaves scattered to the ground.

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