Against Their Will Read online

  Against Their Will

  A Thriller Conceived from True Events

  Carolyn Courtney Lauman

  AGAINST THEIR WILL

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  Copyright © 2019 Carolyn Courtney Lauman

  All rights reserved.

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  ISBN: 978-1-7332864-0-4 (Ebook Edition)

  ISBN: 978-1-7332864-1-1 (Paperback Edition)

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  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Cover Design by Hampton Lamoureux

  Created with Vellum

  Author's Note

  This is a work of fiction. All names and characters are products of the author's creativity and imagination. Actual locations, organizations and businesses have been used fictitiously. Any enhancement, errors or omissions in the descriptions of same are the sole responsibility of the author.

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to my sister, Debbie, who set out with me on that fateful trip south so many years ago. It was scary then, for certain, but looking back now, with daughters of our own, I am much more frightened by what could have been. Could have been but wasn’t, when our own guardian angel, in the form of a kind and concerned truck driver, stepped in to help us. Be safe, Nicole and Emma. We love you.

  Acknowledgments

  This novel has been forty years in the making, and I'd like to thank the people who helped bring Against Their Will to its inevitable conclusion:

  Debbie Molino, my sister and friend, for being there from the beginning, for reading the early drafts, and for your unending support and encouragement.

  Barbara Courtney, my mother, for fostering my love of the written word from a very early age. I love you!

  Maria Pease, writer and instructor, for your invaluable guidance, instruction and friendship.

  Kate Schomaker, my editor, for polishing my words and inspiring me to become a stronger writer. I am lucky to have found you!

  Hampton Lamoureux for your creative cover design that allows Against Their Will to stand out in the crowd.

  And finally, to my husband, Wayne, for your quiet support and unceasing love during the many months I disappeared into this story.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  1. Late Saturday, December 29, 1979

  2. Late Sunday Morning, December 30, 1979

  3. Late Saturday Afternoon, December 29, 1979

  4. Late Saturday Afternoon, December 29, 1979

  5. Sunday Afternoon, December 30, 1979

  6. Saturday Evening, December 29, 1979

  7. Saturday Evening, December 29, 1979

  8. Sunday Afternoon, December 30, 1979

  9. Saturday Evening, December 29, 1979

  10. Saturday Evening, December 29, 1979

  11. Sunday Morning, December 30, 1979

  12. Sunday Afternoon, December 30, 1979

  13. Sunday Afternoon, December 30, 1979

  14. Sunday Evening, December 30, 1979

  15. Monday Morning, December 31, 1979

  16. Monday Morning, December 31, 1979

  17. Monday Evening, December 31, 1979

  18. Monday Evening, December 31, 1979

  19. Monday Night, December 31, 1979

  20. Monday Evening, December 31, 1979

  21. Monday Night, December 31, 1979

  22. Monday Night, December 31, 1979

  23. Early Tuesday Morning, January 1, 1980

  24. Thursday Morning, January 24, 1980

  25. Tuesday Morning, January 1, 1980

  26. Tuesday Evening, January 1, 1980

  27. Wednesday Morning, January 2, 1980

  28. Wednesday Afternoon, January 2, 1980

  29. Wednesday & Thursday, January 2 & 3, 1980

  30. Thursday Morning, January 3, 1980

  31. Saturday Morning, January 5, 1980

  32. Saturday Morning, January 5, 1980

  33. Saturday Afternoon, January 5, 1980

  34. Thursday Evening, January 24, 1980

  35. Monday Morning, March 17, 1980

  36. Monday Morning, March 17, 1980

  37. Monday Afternoon, March 17, 1980

  38. Monday Afternoon, March 17, 1980

  39. Monday Afternoon, March 17, 1980

  40. Tuesday Morning, March 18, 1980

  41. Tuesday Morning, March 18, 1980

  42. Tuesday Afternoon, March 18, 1980

  43. Tuesday Afternoon, March 18, 1980

  44. Tuesday Afternoon, March 18, 1980

  45. Tuesday Evening, March 18, 1980

  46. Wednesday Morning, March 19, 1980

  Part II

  47. Monday Morning, August 6, 2018

  48. Monday Afternoon, August 6, 2018

  49. Tuesday Morning, August 7, 2018

  50. Tuesday Afternoon, August 7, 2018

  51. Tuesday Afternoon, August 7, 2018

  52. Wednesday Morning, August 8, 2018

  53. Wednesday Afternoon, August 8, 2018

  54. Wednesday Evening, August 8, 2018

  55. Wednesday Evening, August 8, 2018

  56. Thursday Morning, August 9, 2018

  57. Thursday Evening, August 9, 2018

  58. Friday Morning, August 10, 2018

  59. Friday Evening, August 10, 2018

  60. Friday Evening, August 10, 2018

  61. Friday Evening, August 10, 2018

  62. Saturday Morning, August 11, 2018

  63. Saturday Morning, August 11, 2018

  64. Saturday Afternoon, August 11, 2018

  65. Saturday Afternoon, August 11, 2018

  66. Saturday Afternoon, August 11, 2018

  67. Saturday Evening, August 11, 2018

  68. Saturday Evening, August 11, 2018

  69. Saturday Evening, August 11, 2018

  70. Saturday Night, August 11, 2018

  71. Saturday Night, August 11, 2018

  72. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  73. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  74. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  75. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  76. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  77. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  78. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  79. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  80. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  81. Early Sunday Morning, August 12, 2018

  82. Sunday Evening, August 12, 2018

  Aftermath

  Epilogue

  Also by Carolyn Courtney Lauman

  Deceptive Waters

  About the Author

  Prologue

  US Interstate 95 runs from Maine’s border with Canada to Miami, Florida, passing through more US states than any other interstate.

  Completion of its bypass east of Fayetteville, North Carolina, took place in 1983. Prior to that, as was the case in late 1979, Business 95 ran through a densely populated area of Fayetteville. Lined with service stations, fast food franchises, pawn shops, and roadside bars, this urban thoroughfare both welcomed and repelled travelers heading north and south.

  Part I

  If you want to change the world, start with the next person

  who comes to you in need.

  —B. D. Schiers

  1

  Late Saturday, December 29, 1979

  Fayetteville, North Carolina

  The engine of the aging yellow Subaru sputtered a bit, shimmying the steering wheel in Isabella’s hands. “What the hell!” she exclaimed, pressing hard on the brake pedal.

&nbs
p; Looking up from her fashion magazine, Maria sighed and said, “Don’t tell me we’re out of gas.”

  “Not according to the gauge, but we’d better fill up, just in case.”

  Signaling her move into the turning lane, Isabella cut in front of a jacked-up pickup. The bearded driver honked angrily, flashing his middle finger.

  “Screw him,” Maria said as Isabella pulled into a brightly lit Hess station. Looking around, she asked, “Where are we, anyway?”

  “Some town in North Carolina. Fayetteville, I think,” Isabella replied.

  Squirming in her seat, Maria drawled, “Otherwise known as Hicksville. Do y’all think the john’s clean here?”

  Looking askance at her sister, Izzy said, “Only one way to find out. Go ahead while I pump.”

  Maria made her way into a grimy, glass-fronted office where a mess of a man sat behind a battered metal desk overflowing with NASCAR and girlie magazines. His scraggly, yellowed mustache accented a mouth with few remaining teeth, and his eyes were red-rimmed and rheumy. More hair sprouted from his nose and ears than his scalp, and what little there was of that was an oily shade of gray.

  “Well, hello there, missy,” he said, leering at Maria. “What can I he’p you with?”

  “Is the restroom unlocked?” she asked, trying her darnedest to avoid looking at the man’s teeth or the centerfold of a naked woman on the desk in front of him.

  “Naw, but here’s the key,” he answered, reaching back to grab a ring from a hook on the wall. “Ladies’ is the second door ’round to the side. Be sure to bring that back when yer done.”

  “Yes, sir, thanks,” Maria assured him. Turning, she collided with Izzy, who was making her way into the office.

  “Done already?” Maria asked.

  “Yeah, only took a few gallons. Don’t know why it was acting up, but we should be good to go.”

  The girls took turns using the single-stall bathroom, which wasn’t terribly dirty after all, although a disgusting cockroach had been desperately trying to extricate itself from the toilet bowl until Maria flushed it away. After they returned the key to the office, the old man called out to them, “Stop on back, ya hear?”

  On the second try, the ignition caught, and with sighs of relief, the sisters pulled back onto the crowded four-lane road. Daylight was quickly fading, and colorful Christmas lights could be seen adorning buildings and streetlights on both sides of the road. Everyone in Fayetteville seemed in a hurry to get somewhere on this late winter afternoon, and Izzy swore under her breath when a low-riding El Camino braked abruptly in front of them.

  With red lights stopping traffic at just about every intersection, it was slowgoing as the girls made their way south. Braking at what appeared to be the last crossroad heading out of town, the Subaru once again coughed and jerked disconcertingly.

  “Shit!” cried Izzy, banging her fist on the steering wheel. “This is ridiculous!”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “How do I know?” Izzy answered angrily. “We’re gonna have to pull over again.”

  “Where?” Maria asked, peering nervously out the window. “The gas stations are all behind us.”

  “There,” Izzy said, pointing to the dirt parking lot in front of a low, red-brick building that had seen better days. The glass front door, framed by a portico of rotting wooden columns that bowed haphazardly, beckoned passers-by with a flickering neon Budweiser sign.

  Maria sighed heavily as Izzy steered the dying car to a stop beside a stand of unsold Christmas trees. A hand-lettered sign, originally reading All Christmas Trees $59, had been corrected with red paint to read All Christmas Trees $19. The next stop for the remaining few would be the mulch pile.

  “What are we gonna do now?” Maria asked, sounding a bit panicked.

  “I don’t know.” Izzy shrugged, watching the neon beer sign flash on and off. “Let’s go in and see if there’s a phone we can use.”

  “This sucks! We’ll never make it to Florida tonight,” Maria complained. “First we drove twice around DC, and now this.”

  “Shut up!” Izzy snapped, though she’d been feeling crappy about missing that earlier exit in northern Virginia, a diversion that had added over an hour to the already interminable trip. “Let’s just see what we find inside.”

  The girls exited the car, pulling their purse straps over their heads and hugging them tightly to their bodies. With temperatures in the thirties when they’d left Pennsylvania that morning, they were wearing jeans and flannel shirts. Having left their heavy winter parkas at home, they’d tossed their lightweight jackets into the back seat when they’d stopped for lunch earlier in the day.

  The parking lot was nearly deserted, with a single tractor trailer off to the left and a rusty old pickup truck parked directly in front of the door. As the girls approached the entrance, Maria read aloud the faded sign above the door: “Jimmy’s Joint.”

  A haze of cigarette smoke, backlit with tacky Christmas lights and buzzing neon signs, greeted them as they entered the building. Johnny Cash could be heard singing "A Boy Named Sue" on the jukebox in the back corner behind a pool table. Three men sat at the bar, their backs to the door.

  Resisting the urge to turn around, the girls approached the aproned man wiping down the bar top. He was big and tall, appearing to be in his late forties. A ruddy face and hair graying at the temples highlighted his need for a shave and a haircut, but he reminded Maria a little of Buford Pusser, or at least Joe Don Baker as Buford Pusser. Looking up, he tossed the rag over his shoulder and asked, “What can I get you, ladies?”

  “Uh…,” Izzy started, hesitant at first to continue. “We were wondering if you have a phone we can use.”

  Hearing the short exchange, the two nearest men stopped their conversation and turned to check out the girls. “Hello, pretty things,” drawled the slighter of the two. Small but mean-looking, he sported a jagged scar across his pock-marked right cheek and beady eyes that darted from under the bill of a green-and-yellow John Deere cap. His unruly black hair, which he’d shoved behind his ears, hung to his shoulders. Dirty denim overalls and a jacket with “Stud” crudely stenciled on the back completed the package. Noting that last detail, Maria shuddered as she grabbed Izzy’s upper arm so tightly she winced.

  “Mind yer business, Billy,” the bartender warned.

  “Oh, you’re no fun, Jimmy. I’m just being nice. Right, Frank?” he asked the man sitting to his left, who, like Billy, was wearing grimy overalls. Unlike Billy, Frank was soft and pudgy with eyes that didn’t seem to focus all that well. His hair was buzz-cut short on top and longer at the collar, a style the girls knew to be a mullet. Maria was right, thought Izzy, we are in Hicksville.

  Stubbing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, Frank slurred, “Yeah, that’s right. We don’t get many pretty ladies in here. Nice change of scenery. No offense, Jimmy.”

  “Sure is,” agreed Billy, but before he could finish, Jimmy waved the girls around to the side of the bar, telling them, “Ignore those boys, ladies, and tell me what’s going on.”

  With fear threatening to get the better of her, Izzy struggled to calm her voice as she explained about their car. “Maybe we could call a tow truck or mechanic to see if they can fix it.”

  “Well, honey,” Jimmy replied, “that would be nice, but seeing how it’s Saturday night, there ain’t nobody open to come help you. It’s probably gonna be Monday before we can get somebody to take a look.”

  Eavesdropping on the conversation, Billy chimed in, “Or even Tuesday or Wednesday. Case you didn’t know it, Monday’s New Year’s Eve. Won’t be nobody working over the long weekend.”

  As Billy’s words sank in, the color drained from Izzy’s face, and she pulled Maria toward the door. “Let’s go,” she whispered, her voice a mix of fear and anger. “We’ll find someone else to help us.”

  “Damn you, Billy,” snarled Jimmy, snapping his dishrag at the man. “I told you to mind yer business!”

&nb
sp; “Stop ’em,” hiccupped Frank, leaning unsteadily toward Billy. “We can fix their car.”

  “Yeah!” Billy agreed, jumping off his stool and stumbling after the girls. “Wait, little ladies!” he shouted. When he grabbed Izzy’s arm, she turned and slapped him hard across his scarred cheek.

  “Keep your grimy hands off me!” she growled.

  “Whoa, now, pretty girl. We was just gonna offer to help you,” he said, rubbing his smarting face. “No need to get yer knickers in a knot. My friend Frank here and me know a lot about cars. Why don’tcha let us take a look?”