Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2

by Denise Grover Swank

  I almost argued that we’d be fine, but the last thing I wanted to do was put Ruth at risk. “We’re not very busy tonight, and there’s a new snowstorm coming in. Ruth’s planning on closing early. Can you come around eleven?”

  “See you then.”

  I hung up and headed back into the dining room. Ruth looked curious about my call, but she didn’t ask questions. She surely would have if she’d recognized Bingham’s voice.

  Jerry was at one of our few remaining tables, talking to a couple of older men, and they waved me down to get their check.

  “We need to get home before the snow hits,” one of the men said.

  His comment made me remember the coat I’d gotten Jerry but hadn’t given him yet. “Don’t leave yet, Jerry,” I said, setting the ticket on the table. “I got you something in Greeneville last week, and I keep forgetting to give it to you. It’s in the back. Let me run and grab it.”

  I hurried to the back room and pulled out the Target bag I’d stuffed into one of the empty lockers. It was really jammed inside, so I gave it a hard tug. I pulled it loose but stumbled backward and into something firm.

  A person.

  A hand covered my mouth as I felt a sharp jab in my thigh. I glanced down to see a hand holding a syringe against my leg.

  “Time to go nighty-night,” a man whispered in my ear.

  I felt woozy and started to slump to the floor, but a strong arm held me up against a hard chest.

  And then everything went black.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When I came to, my head felt fuzzy and my body shivered from cold. I released an involuntary groan.

  “Carly?”

  It took me a moment to recognize Greta’s voice.

  “Greta?” I said, but my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and my voice came out as a croak.

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  “I feel like shit.” Everything in my body ached, from my head to my toes. I was lying against something cold and uneven. The air reeked of mold and pee.

  “If they dosed you with the same drug they used on me, it’s one of the aftereffects. It’s probably gonna get worse before it gets better.”

  Great.

  My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could see slivers of pale light shining through rectangular slats on the wall. The dirt floor was damp beneath me. “Where are we?”

  “Some sort of shed. It’s not insulated.”

  My hands were tied behind my back, and my fingertips tingled from cold. “Why are we here?”

  “They’re lookin’ for Lula.”

  I struggled to keep my eyes open. “Lula’s not here?”

  “No. But they want her. Bad.”

  A wave of nausea rose up, and I pushed up on a shoulder and turned my head as I vomited violently.

  “That’s also part of it,” she said sympathetically.

  I vomited again. After the last spasm passed, I tried to sit up, but my stomach muscles ached too badly, so I rolled away from the mess, toward Greta. I began to shake and she edged closer to me, pressing her jeans-covered leg against my bare arm. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but I could tell she was wearing the thick sweater she’d had on the night she’d walked into the tavern. Her left eye and her lips were swollen. She’d been beaten.

  “You’re gonna freeze to death,” she said, her voice full of concern.

  Whoever had taken me from the tavern had dumped me in here without a coat. “Who took us?”

  “That guy who came into the café askin’ about Lula,” she said.

  “Shane Jones,” I said. “Only some people know him as Charlie. I found out he works at Greener Pastures. I think he was the one who took your wallet. Marco got his employment application. We got his address, and Bingham and his men searched the property, but they didn’t find anything. Do you know where we are?”

  “I was unconscious when I got here too. I don’t leave this shed, so I have no idea.”

  “They don’t take you somewhere else to question you?”

  “There is no they. Just that guy. He asks where Lula went, I tell him I don’t know, and he knocks me around. Over and over.”

  “Do you hear any sounds?” I asked. “Cars? Planes? Water?”

  “Birds,” she said. “Just birds…and leaves.”

  “No people talking?”

  “No.”

  “Have you tried the door?”

  “He locks it from the outside. I think it’s a padlock.”

  I finally managed to push myself up to sitting, my back resting against the wall, wood splitters digging into my skin. Another wave of nausea rose up, but I swallowed the bile and then took several breaths through my mouth.

  Greta leaned against me. “It takes a few hours to recover.”

  I wasn’t sure I had a few hours. It was freezing outside, and I thought I could see snowflakes through the slats of the shed. I was only wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt.

  I’d gone to the back room at around nine thirty. Marco wouldn’t show up until eleven, but it wouldn’t take Ruth and Tiny long to notice I was missing. What would they do? Call Marco? Wyatt? Would they assume I’d just walked out? Even if they contacted Marco, how would he find me?

  Bottom line: I couldn’t wait for someone to come rescue us. We had to save ourselves.

  “Are your hands tied behind your back?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Get them to the front. We’re breaking out of here.”

  “But the door’s locked,” she protested.

  “We’re not using the door.” Another wave of nausea hit me, and I took several breaths through my mouth until it passed. “We’re going to dig ourselves out. Is there anything in here we can use to dig?”

  “I…”

  “Think about it while you work your hands to the front.” I braced my back against the wall and lifted my butt. Sliding my hands underneath me, I then concentrated on unthreading my arms from my legs.

  Greta’s voice shook with fear. “If he sees we’ve done this, he won’t like it.”

  “We won’t be here when he comes back.” With my back to the wall, I pushed up to standing, then waited out a rush of dizziness. Greta seemed to be working on slipping her hands to the front.

  I turned and pressed my eye to a crack between the slat. The ground was clear for about ten feet and then it hit the woods. I took a step toward another wall and my legs nearly buckled underneath me. I caught myself against the wood slats and waited for a new round of nausea and pain to subside.

  “What the hell did he give me?”

  “Some drug they created but it didn’t work out for recreational use. Obviously. It’s brutal, Carly. You need to sit and rest.”

  No fucking way was I going to sit and rest. Unless he was stupid, he didn’t care if I survived or not, otherwise he would have given me a coat or a blanket. “No. We need to find something to dig with.”

  I looked out of the slats in the second wall and saw more woods. The third wall faced the side of a small wood cabin. A black truck was parked out front. Mud was caked on the sides, and I realized it had double wheels in the back.

  “Charlie/Shane’s the one who was at Lula’s property,” I said. “Only she must have seen him coming and run out into the woods.” I moved to the wall with the door and saw a narrow road curving from the house and into the trees. “We need to go out on the side opposite the house. Toward the back,” I said, nodding in that direction. “We’ll dig a depression big enough for us to slip through, run into the trees, and run parallel to the road until the house is out of sight. There’s bound to be another house somewhere close.” I hoped.

  It was a solid plan. We just needed to find makeshift tools and hope that the asshole didn’t come out to check on us.

  “We can’t do that, Carly. If he figures out what we’re doin’…”

  “He’s not gonna figure it out. Not until after we’re long gone.”

  I found a met
al coffee can full of screws on the ground, so I slowly dumped them out, careful to make as little noise as possible. Dropping to my knees in front of the back walk, I gripped the lip of the can and pushed it into the ground as hard as I could. A small amount of soil got scooped up, and I tossed it into the corner before going in for another. The ground was hard, but we’d get through it.

  Greta found a small garden shovel, and I suggested we use it cut our wrist bindings before we started digging.

  It took multiple attempts for me to get the angle and pressure right, but I finally cut through her bindings. By the time I finished, my hand was shaking, and I dropped the shovel to the ground and took a few seconds to recover.

  She shook out her hands and released a soft moan, then wrapped her arm around me and hugged me tight.

  I sank into her for a moment, soaking up her body heat, before I reluctantly pulled free. “Me next.”

  She nodded and picked up the shovel, and I got a good look at her as she started working on the rope. The band of her ponytail had slipped a few inches from her head, making the hair around her head loose and messy. Her face was more swollen than I’d realized, and her sweater was covered with splotches of blood.

  “What does he ask you when he comes in?” I asked, the words taking more effort than I’d expected.

  “He asks where Lula is,” she whispered. “Where she put the money. I don’t know anything about any of it, of course, but he doesn’t like that answer.” She gave me a wry smile, but it stretched her swollen, busted lips, and she winced. “I’m not surprised you’re here. The last time he paid me a visit, he asked about you and if you were workin’ for Bingham. He thinks you know something about Lula.” She paused for a moment, looking up into my eyes. “Carly, he’ll try to beat it out of you.”

  The hairs on my arms stood on end, and a new wave of energy flushed through my veins, pushing away the exhaustion. We had to get out of here before he came back.

  Greta was almost through the rope, so I pulled my wrists apart and broke through the final cords.

  I rubbed the rope burns on my wrists and said, “Let’s get started.”

  It was slow going. The ground was packed, but we were determined. We worked in coordinated silence as I kept pushing back against the overwhelming urge to lie down and take a short rest. If I closed my eyes, I had no idea when I’d wake up. I prayed the adrenaline rush continued to hold off the darkness in my head.

  The deeper we dug, the more freezing winter air filled the shack. The snow continued to fall, adding to the dirt we were scooping. After we’d been at it for twenty minutes or so, we could clearly see the outside. The ground was covered in a light dusting. Panic hit me when I realized we were going to leave tracks pointing to our escape route. We needed to get out of here as quickly as possible so the continuing snowfall would hopefully cover our tracks.

  “Stop,” I said, closing my eyes for a second as a new round of nausea and dizziness hit me. “I think we’re close. Let’s check the depth.”

  The depression was about a foot deep in a half circle. Freedom was so close I could taste it, but it made me anxious too. If he decided to come in and check on us, it would be difficult to hide what we’d been doing. But the hole still wasn’t big enough for us to escape. “I think we only need to go a little farther.”

  “Okay.” She continued digging while I took another few seconds.

  The movement had warmed me up some, but my head was killing me and my balance was off, and a new worry took hold. I was going to slow Greta down when we got out. I wasn’t sure I could run, let alone walk without falling over.

  After another five minutes of us working in silence, I checked the hole again. “I think it’s good enough. Greta, you go first.”

  She stared at me in wide-eyed terror. “I can’t.”

  “You can,” I said. “And you will.”

  “What if I get stuck?”

  “Then I’ll dig you free. Now go.”

  My bossiness must have overridden her fear because she got on her stomach and started to put her head through first.

  “Stop,” I said. “Put your hands through first so you can pull yourself up.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” she said as though giving herself a pep talk. She did as I’d suggested, threading her arms into the hole and then her head.

  I realized our mistake straightaway—we should have given the hole more of an incline, but it would work in a pinch. Greta had gotten the top half of her body through, but we hadn’t made it wide enough for her hips. She was stuck. She started to panic, struggling against the blockage, but I put my hand on her lower back and said, “Calm down. He’ll hear us. You’re okay, I’ll dig you free.”

  To my relief, she settled down and I used the shovel to dig around her hips, trying to not jab her despite my growing sense of urgency.

  We were so close.

  Just when she was on the verge of wiggling free, we heard the squeaking of poorly oiled door hinges. Greta pulled her legs the rest of the way free and turned around to stare at me through the hole with pure panic in her eyes.

  “Carly!” she whispered.

  I doubted I’d make it through the hole in time, and I was still unsteady enough that I’d never outrun him.

  Grabbing her hand, I squeezed it hard. “Run for help. I’ll keep him busy.”

  “How?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I’ve got some weapons I can use,” I said. “He won’t be prepared for them. Now go!” I gave her hand a shove, and after giving me a look of hesitation and guilt, she ran soundlessly into the trees. Leaving clear tracks behind her. Hopefully he wouldn’t see them before he came into the shed.

  I planned to buy her as much time as I could.

  A man was whistling a happy tune, and the sound got louder as he came closer. I suspected he was taunting us, something he confirmed when he called out, “Carly, I’m comin’ to see you. We’re gonna have some fun.”

  And I would be ready for him. If I’d had time, I could have refilled the bucket with screws and swung it at his head, but I really needed to use the element of surprise.

  I grabbed a handful of the screws, pulling out the longer ones and placing them between the fingers of my right hand, the ends pointed outward, while I held the shovel in my left hand.

  “Carly?” he called out again, sounding entirely too happy to suit me. “Are you awake yet?”

  I remained silent, trying to formulate a quick plan. I’d never taken self-defense classes, but I knew one of the most sensitive areas for a man, so I crouched next to the door and waited.

  “Hey, Greta,” he said next to the door. The padlock clunked against the wood. When she didn’t answer, he grew pissed. “You stupid bitch. Answer me.”

  My pulse was pounding in my head, and adrenaline flooded my system. I gave this a twenty-five percent success rate, but I reminded myself of my main goal: buying time for Greta. Anything else was pure bonus.

  There was a thud on the ground. The sound distracted me, and I realized too late he’d dropped the padlock on the ground. The door was already swinging open, and a beam of light shone against the back wall.

  “What the fuck?” he snarled, turning around.

  This hadn’t gone as I’d expected. I’d thought he’d walk in and I’d punch him in the balls with my fist full of screws, but obviously that plan was blown to bits. He taken a single step inside the shed.

  Time to improvise.

  “Hey, you fucking asshole!” I shouted, still crouched on the other side of the door.

  “Carly?” he asked, spinning around and shining his flashlight into the shed again. This time he took a step. “Where are you, you stupid bitch?”

  He hadn’t walked all the way into the shed, but at least he was standing still. I thrust my arm between his legs, but he shifted to the side and the screws sunk into his left thigh.

  He screamed out in pain and started to reach for my arm—which was when I jabbed the garden shovel into his bicep, slammin
g the screws deeper into his leg as I did so.

  He fell to the ground screaming in pain. I’d temporarily incapacitated him, but I’d neglected to take into account the fact that he might block the door. If I tried to go over him, he’d hurt me. But every second I hesitated gave him one more second to recover.

  He sat up and pure rage covered his face. “I’m gonna beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of you.”

  Keep him talking.

  “Is that what you did to Greta?” I asked.

  “Honey,” he said, grabbing a screwhead and pulling it from his leg. He threw it against the wall, where it pinged then fell to the ground. “What I did to Greta’s gonna look like patty-cakes. I promised her sister I wouldn’t hurt her too bad, but I didn’t make no promises about you.”

  The thought that Melody knew he had Greta filled my head first, but it was quickly replaced with an image of Greta’s bruised and swollen face. If he called that holding back, I wasn’t sure I’d survive long enough for Greta to get back with help.

  “What about Lula?” I asked. “What did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do shit to her. I’m trying to find her, so it worked great when you started lookin’ for her too. But then you sniffed too close in my direction. That’s when I knew it was time to shut you up.”

  “You realize I only got to you because you took Greta. If you’d left her alone, I’d have been none the wiser.”

  He released a long growl of frustration as he pulled out another screw and threw it hard against the wall.

  “What about Marco?” I asked. “You gonna shut him up too? And what about the sheriff’s department? You have enough people on the inside to keep them out of it?”

  “The sheriff’s department’s not lookin’ into this,” he said, taking several rapid breaths to deal with his pain. “I checked this afternoon.” He reached for another screw but hesitated as though psyching himself up to deal with the pain.

  Part of me wanted to tell him not to remove the screws, that doing so might increase his blood loss, but this man intended to hurt or kill me. If he was injured, it would work to my advantage. “Marco won’t let this go. He knows about you. He’ll find me.”