Willow's Run

by Robert Bockstael

Genres: Action & Adventure; Suspense; Small Town & Rural; Mystery; Domestic Thrillers; Nothing stays hidden

Synopsis

A woman on the run from her sadistic husband in a stolen million-dollar motor home is trapped in a small town.

This debut novel gives new meaning to the phrase ‘strong female protagonist’ and guarantees to satisfy anyone looking for action, mystery, and unforgettable characters.

Meet Alcima ‘The Willow’ Willoughby. Olympic volleyball player. Six foot six in socks.

After a crippling injury on the volleyball court causes the U.S. to lose gold at Beijing, Alcima’s life spirals into addiction and an abusive marriage. In a rare moment of clarity, she escapes.

In her husband's two-million-dollar RV.

Almost across the country and out of his grasp, Alcima is stopped for a minor traffic infraction. When she pulls off the road, the massive motorhome rolls over, setting off a chain of events that conspire to trap Alcima in a nearby small town during a week of violent rainstorms.

Holed up in an abandoned campground, hunger forces Alcima to venture out, where she meets a local librarian, Booker Thompson. Attracted by Alcima’s fearless nature and offbeat humor, Booker enlists a few of his close friends to help her hide from the dangerous man hot on her trail.

Booker leads Alcima on a harrowing journey to his secluded island, where they tumble into an intense affair. But she soon discovers an even worse fate than being found by her revenge obsessed husband. Uncovering long buried secrets about the town - and Booker - she is inexorably drawn down into a terrifying subterranean world where she comes face to face with her fears and her one, tragic physical flaw.

When she is betrayed, there is only one thing she can do.

Run.

Release date: March 1, 2022

Publisher: Pender Lake Press

Print pages: 415

Content advisory: Sexual content, some graphic violence

Sample

Prologue

Rain.
Cascading down the brick buildings of the small lakeside town, it rushed along Main Street’s gutters and plunged down the steep hill to Bridge Street. Fall River was black and cold. Hard winds were gusting across its surface and racing upwards making wild
pendulums of the town’s sole traffic light, cable-suspended above the intersection. Second story windows reflected the funhouse splashes of
red, yellow and green.
The spring night was cold and the streets were deserted; the northeastern states still dozing, reluctant to be roused from their post-winter slumber. Huge iron lampposts straddled the sidewalks like dark giants,
their shoulders hunched against the deluge, faces down, straining to push their light through silver-black sheets of rain.
At the Fall River Savings and Loan, a well-dressed man in his early seventies stepped out into the storm, grabbing the brim of his hat to keep it from flying away. Coat tails flapping, he braced a foot against the door and locked up. Next door, at the Bijou Theater, he ducked through the curtain of water falling from the old-fashioned marquee announcing a Hitchcock double feature, The Birds and Rear Window,
burned-out bulbs making the old building’s facade look ominous.
He pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped into the overheated lobby, his soaked Oxfords leaving footprints on the worn carpeting.
Fishing a damp ticket from deep inside his coat pocket, he handed it to Jimmy the usher, whose pimply forehead complemented his worn brown uniform, complete with piping, braided epaulets and clip-on
bow tie.
“Just in time for the second feature, eh Jimmy?”
Jimmy tore the ticket, threw half into a near empty fishbowl and handed back the other half. “First show’s gonna be over soon, Mr. O’Connor. The lady’s about to get pecked.” He went back to studying
a dog-eared private eye paperback.
“Thanks.” Alex O’Connor peered into the theater through the circular glass portal. Light from the movie screen glistened on his wet face. Tippi Hedren was stepping into an attic room where a swarm of
birds awaited.
Removing his hat, he ran his fingers through his thick white hair and went to push open the door, smudged from countless popcorn-buttery hands. Suddenly, a low resonant rumble rose up from the bowels of
the old theater, and the floor vibrated.
“What the hell?” Jimmy said, standing up fast.
Alex and Jimmy stood frozen in place for a long moment, looking at each other, listening.
“Whatever that was,” Alex said. “It sounded deep.”
Inside the theater the soundtrack built. The birds attacked and tore at Tippi. The music hit a crescendo, ending abruptly. Bloodied and beaten, Tippi fell to the ground.
The building shook again.
Alex shot out a hand to brace himself. The tremor ended as abruptly as it had started.
“Go up and get Don,” Alex said.
“Yes sir.”
A thump from below. Bigger and deeper.
“Run up straight away Jimmy. Go. I’ll prop open the lobby doors. You’ll be wanting to evacuate the theater.” Overhead, a dusty chandelier swayed slightly, bulbs blinking. Seeing that, Jimmy raced up the curving
staircase two steps at a time. On the landing, a small alcove contained a plaster statue of a semi-nude woman balancing an urn. As was his habit, Jimmy brushed her breast as he reached through her crooked
arm and turned a concealed knob. The wall swung inward; it was the door to the projection booth that accessed the theater’s cramped office as well as Don Anderson’s apartment.
Jimmy found himself face to face with Mr. Anderson, owner of the Bijou Theater. “I’m on it, son. Movie’s shut off. I’ll go down and make the announcement in the house.”
Bump.
“Fourth time it’s done that,” Jimmy said, voice cracking.
“Look at me, Jimmy. It’s fine. The old gal’s just squirming in the mud from all the rain.” He patted Jimmy’s bony shoulder. “Nothing to worry
about. You clear the balcony. Let’s get folks out safe and calm, okay?”
Jimmy nodded. They split up. Don arrived at the bottom of the stairs where Alex had the Bijou’s lobby doors propped open.
“Thanks, Alex.”
“Would you like me to stick around?”
Don called over his shoulder, “Nope, you just get yourself on home.”
Alex pulled his collar up against the wild night. Beneath the marquee, he stopped and looked back. A long moment passed before the patrons came rushing out onto the street, speculating in hushed tones
while fumbling with coats and umbrellas. Alex pulled down the brim of his hat, turned, and stepped out into the storm.
It was a small audience due to the weather. Don had the building clear in minutes. He was closing the front doors when Jimmy returned, out of breath. “Balcony’s empty, Mr. Anderson.”
“Good. Follow me.” Don Anderson locked the lobby doors and headed back into the theater.