“Do what ya gotta do. S’down the hall on the left,” the man says.
“Thanks,” Blake says.
Before I have time to back away and hide, Blake turns the corner, and nearly topples over me.
His brown eyes blaze into mine.
“What in the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers through gritted teeth.
My eyes widen, but I don’t say a word. All I can think to do is shake my head and shrug.
Without another word, he grabs me by the scruff of my jacket and hauls me with him to the bathroom and closes the door.
“I don’t want to be in here when you’re peeing,” I whisper, grossed out.
“Are you trying to fuck this whole thing up?” Blake whispers furiously, his hands flying to the top of his head.
“Excuse me? You’re the one chatting him up. What the hell are you doing to get Esther out?” I spit back.
“I’ve been waiting for the drug I slipped into his drink to kick in, dumbass,” he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
I scrunch my face up, “Well…oh. What about backup? When are they supposed to arrive?”
Blakes hands fly up, looking as though he’s about ready to strangle me—but he regains his composure and grits his teeth instead.
“Your nostrils are flaring,” I mutter, pointing at his reddening face.
“Seriously, are you always this dense? I’m a private investigator. There is no backup.”
I scrunch my face, “But you said—”
“You were on my case. I wanted you to stay behind. Good God, it’s like dealing with a damn child.”
“Normally I have a better read on what’s going on. You’re a freakin’ blind spot, remember? I’m not used to handling that kinda thing,” I whisper, enunciating each word with a stronger start than necessary.
“Well get a freakin’ grip. You’re about to screw this whole thing up,” he says, pursing his lips.
I roll my eyes.
“Please. Do you have any idea where he’s keeping Esther? Or have you been too busy drinking it up with the bad guy?”
“Just a hunch, but under the stairs,” he says without hesitation.
I flinch and try to recover as quickly as possible.
Figures he’d know without my damn help. Maybe he was right. Maybe he didn’t need me for this.
“Yeah, but how do you get in?” I say, making a face.
“Pretty sure there’s a door somewhere,” he says, raising an all-knowing eyebrow.
“Well, if you know everything, why did you even need me?” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“As I recall, I didn’t. You chose to come—and you promised to stay put unless I needed you,” he says pointing out the obvious.
“Oh, shi—”
A loud rap on the other side of the door makes us both jump.
“E’rything okay in there?” the man of the house asks.
Blake places a hand firmly across my mouth and opens his brown eyes wide. His nostrils flare as he presses his lips into a thin line.
“Yeah, sorry. Takin’ a little longer than I thought,” he mutters.
“Somebody in there wit ya? Thought I heard talking.”
“No, just me. I, er…was watching a YouTube clip on my phone,” Blake answers back.
“Thar’s magazines next to da pot.”
We both look toward the toilet. Sure enough, a stack of magazines rest in various states of decay. Mostly old Penthouse issues, with a couple of Guns & Ammo thrown in for good measure.
I shudder.
Gross.
“So there is. Thanks,” Blake says, casting me a sideways glance.
“You bet,” the man slurs.
We stand absolutely still, listening to the sound of footsteps dragging their way back to the living room.
“Listen to me and listen closely. I want to you leave through whatever doorway, window, or crevasse you crawled in through, and get your ass back to the Rover. I want to get away clean, and without complication. I can’t do that unless you’re back where you’re supposed to be,” Blake says, grabbing hold of my arms. “Do you understand me?”
I lower my eyebrows and cock my head to the side.
“Listen up, Blake. I don’t know who you’re used to dealing with, but I’m not your date, and I’m not your employee. I’ll do what I want, as long as it’s what makes sense to me. Got it?”
The door to the bathroom slams open, making us both jump back. The man points a shotgun our direction, his face scrunched like he ate a crate full of lemons.
Still clutched to my arms, Blake takes a step forward and shoves me behind him.
“Knew yer were lyin’. Who’s da broad? What she doin’ here?” the man says, swaying in the doorway. His eyes blink slowly, trying to stay focused and alert. His trigger finger rests precariously on the trigger—not to the side as I wish it would. Even I know better. All it would take is one drunken swagger and he’ll set off the gun.
“Uh—sorry. My girlfriend was scared to come in. I let her in through the back door so she could use the restroom. Thought I’d try to sneak in a little risky sex before we headed out.” Blake leans toward the man and whispers loud enough for both of us to hear, “Gets her hot, if you know what I mean?”
The man visibly relaxes a bit. After a moment, he tips the gun up and rests it on his shoulder.
Blake might not be psychic, but he certainly knows how to read people in his own way. Somehow, he knew exactly how to disarm him without ever raising a hand.
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and allow my shoulders to relax slightly.
“Eh, likes the risky stuff, huh? Feel like sharing?”
The momentary relieve washes away as terror replaces it.
Blake remains calm, keeping his tone cool as a cucumber as he says, “Nah, thanks man. I gave her what she needed.”
“If ya change yer mind, I wouldn’t mind a piece,” the man says, twisting to get a better view of me.
“Like hell,” I blurt out.
My hand flies to my mouth as soon as I realize what I’ve said.
The man’s face turns sour again, and he braces himself on the door frame.
“Say tha’ again,” he says.
Blake turns around, his eyes wide. He mouths to me, Keep your trap shut.
“What she means is,” Blake says, “she knows who her keeper is.”
The man eyes Blake, then glances at me.
“Think it’s best you two get yerselves gone.”
Blake nods, “Yeah, think you’re right. Sorry to be a bother.”
He takes me by the hand, marching me through the house and to the front door. The man stumbles behind us, the shotgun still firmly clutched in his hand. Opening the door, Blake shoves me out into the porch, and turns back to the man.
Without hesitation, I keep walking to the Rover. I might be headstrong, but I sure as hell ain’t stupid.
How the hell are we going to get Esther out now?
There’s no chance the man’s going to let us back in after all this.
I watch from the seat, wondering what Blake could possibly have to say to the man at this point.
A moment later, Blake takes a step onto the porch, but turns back to the man—firmly swiping his elbow upside the man’s head. Almost in slow motion, he drops like a marionette whose strings have been cut.
Kicking the car door open, I rush up the stairs.
“What the?” I say, my voice higher pitched than it should be.
Blake turns back to me, and shrugs. “Damn drug was taking too long to kick in.”
“Holy shit, is he okay?”
Blake chuckles, turning to me. “Does it really matter at this point?”
I glance down at the old man sprawled out on the orange shag carpet. He’s actually not as old as I suspected originally. Without the panic of being shot lingering over me, I realize he’s only in his mid-forties—fifties, tops. But all the years of alcohol abuse hasn’t been k
ind to him.
“Not so much,” I say, shaking my head.
“Good, then help me find Esther and let’s get the hell outta here,” Blake says, rushing to the closet under the stairs.
“Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—tie him up or something?” I ask, pointing at the man’s sprawled-out body on the floor.
“Nah, it will take hours for it to wear off. By then, he’ll be locked up good and safe in his very own cell,” Blake says, rushing to the closet door at the back of the stairs.
I take a final glance at the crumbled body of a wasted life.
How does anyone ever get to this point? Alcohol, drugs, sex addictions, money problems. Human beings can be so easily warped and twisted.
I don’t know where to put the sorrow welling up. Not necessarily for the man, but for innocence lost. If I know anything about people, it’s they don’t start out this way. They’re made.
“What the hell? There’s nothing here—it’s just a coat closet,” Blake calls back, an edge of panic playing at the edges of his rough exterior.
Shaking my head, I walk to the door frame and have a look inside. He’s right. There’s nothing. Flinging apart the drabs of old coats, flannel shirts, and overalls, I trace the back wall. There’s no door—no buttons.
“Step aside,” I say, pushing past Blake and heading back to the man.
“So help me, Diana…if I knocked out some poor old drunk dude for no reason—” Blake warns.
“It’s him. I know it is. She’s here—”
Walking over to the man, I lean down, and place my right hand over his.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhhh. Give me a minute,” I tell him, as I close my eyes.
My mind is flooded with garbled images; thoughts and memories all mashed together in a strange conglomeration of near incoherence. Dark holes, swimming doorways, a necklace swinging around his fingertips with something dangling at the end, laughter, and more drinks.
“Dammit,” I say, standing up and having a look around the room. I walk to the other end of the room to get a different vantage point.
There has to be something here. Something to clue me in.
“What’s going on?” Blake asks, following me. “Diana, talk to me. Where is Esther?”
“I don’t know, Blake. I’m trying to read the room. Can you shut up and give me a minute, please?” I say, casting a back-the-eff-off glance his direction.
“Unbelievable. I knew it…” he says, walking away and reaching for his cellphone.
With him out of the room, colors, sensations, and impressions clear up. I hone in on the ones related to Esther—because I can sense her here. Now and before. The echoes and impressions of when she first arrived are muddled with the excitement she was feeling about getting to finally cuddle the puppy she’d been promised. Yet, she also knew something wasn’t quite right. She didn’t like the smell of the house, or the stench of the man’s breath, and she knew she was too far and her parents were gonna freak.
All of my instincts and impressions are screaming she’s close by—only the path to her is muddled.
“Blake, can you step outside for a moment?” I call out.
He steps back in the room, covering the voice end of his cellphone, and makes a face.
“Excuse me?” he says.
“I need to get a clear read and I you’re getting in the way,” I say.
“Oh, so now this is my fault,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure. I’ll step outside while I’m trying to find a way to clean this mess up.”
“Super,” I say sharply.
As soon as he leaves the house, the back end of the room lights up like a Christmas tree. Red and green light surround the grungy back wall of the living room.
Standing up, I walk to the main entry to the living room—the one leading to the stairs and the hallway, then back around to the closet and second entry on the other side.
There’s way more space beneath the stairs than the tiny closet uses. I place my hands along the walls and close my eyes. Esther suddenly floods my mind as she slams on the other side of the wall. It’s mildly soundproofed—but I can still hear her trying to get the attention of anyone on the other end. Pulling back, I search for how she got in there. Remnants of energy used to bring us to the here and now.
With my eyes closed, I continue to walk along, hands on the walls, until my palms abruptly burn. Flashes of the old tongue and groove wood wall shifting aside slides into my mind and I open my eyes. I’m back in the living room, back to the grungy wall where I started.
I search for a trigger—something that allows the wall to pop out or slide back. The man isn’t that sophisticated, so it has to be something simple, something in plain—
A small knot in the wood has been cleaned out, revealing a simple, but open hole. It could be so easily missed or dismissed. Placing my right pointer finger inside, I grip the wood and pull. The facade easily pops off the wall and I nearly lose my balance as it lands on top of my feet. Throwing it to the side, I drop to my knees. Beneath the fake facade, set back half a foot or so, is a small insulated door, barely four feet tall.
Tugging on the handle, it doesn’t budge.
“Shit. Of course, it’s locked,” I mutter under my breath.
Luckily for those incoherent images from earlier—I know exactly where the key is.
Scrambling to my feet, I rush over to the man. Dropping to my knees, I push him over so he’s on his back.
“What the hell are you doing now?” Blake says, walking back into the house. His eyes are wide with surprise and he steps forward with his hands splayed wide.
“Shut up and go take a look at the wall. She’s in there. I need to find the key,” I say, mentally preparing myself to search the man for the necklace with the key.
Taking a deep breath, I thrust my hand under his shirt in search of the necklace. Nothing’s there but an overly hairy chest.
Flashes of him twirling the necklace and shoving it in his pocket come to mind. I shudder, pulling my hand back.
“Ugh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Christ, how’d you find this?” Blake says from the living room.
“How the hell do you think, dumbass. Psychic, remember? Just because you don’t believe it, doesn’t make it less so.”
Taking a deep breath, I plunge my hand into the man’s right pocket and pull out the key.
Blake’s jaw drops open, but thankfully he doesn’t say another stupid statement. Instead, he backs away and makes space for me as I scramble back over to the little doorway.
Placing the key inside, the satisfying click of the lock pulling back is like nothing I’ve ever heard. I yank the door open and inside, Esther falls back on her butt, tears streaming from her red face. With her inside is the little puppy that lured her here, a small cloth for a blanket, and the ugly orange shag carpet.
“C’mon, let’s get you outta here,” I tell her, extending my arms to her.
Esther’s eyes widen, and she clutches the puppy to her body.
“It’s okay, Esther. We gotta go,” I urge.
She shakes her head, “Where’s my mom?”
Blake pulls me back, taking my place.
“Hey sweetie. Do you remember me? My name’s Blake and your mom and dad are both very worried. They’ve sent us here to come get you. Will you come with us?” he voice is low and soft; the kind of tone I suspect a good dad uses when they’re trying to get their kid to bed.
“Mom’s gonna be so mad at me,” Esther says, fresh tears streaming from her eyes.
Blake shakes his head, “Nobody’s mad. We all want to see you get home safe and sound. Will you come with us?”
He offers his arm out to her and she nods, “Okay, but can I keep the puppy?”
“Sure, Esther. Bring her along, too,” he nods, pulling both of them in close.
“It’s a boy. See?” Esther lifts the puppy by its front paws revealing its gender.
“So it is,�
�� Blake chuckles. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Blake takes a step back, helping Esther out of the little room.
“Where the hell ya’ll think yer going with her? She’s mine, ya hear,” the man slurs from the floor.
Chapter 5
WE BOTH SPIN AROUND surprised to see the man of the house rousing and reaching again for his shotgun. His gestures are slow, and sluggish as he struggles to get to his knees.
“Told you we should have tied him up,” I blurt out, my voice nearly a screech.
Esther screams and flings herself back inside the room.
Blake pushes past me, rushing forward, and kicking the shotgun out of the man’s reach. He follows the movement immediately by landing his steel toed boot squarely upside the man’s head. For the second time tonight, he slumps to the floor.
“Oh my God, tie the man up, would you?” I say, my eyes blazing into Blake’s before turning back to Esther. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s safe now.”
Reaching for my hand, hers shakes as she bends down and exits the small enclosure. Her eyes widen at the sight of her captor on the floor, and she hugs the puppy tighter—who in turn squeals and tries to break free from her grasp.
Without a word, Blake sets to work, hoisting the man up into a small arm chair, and tying him up with whatever ropes and cords he finds available. He secures him expertly, tying knots I haven’t seen in years.
“Boy Scout, were ya?” I say, pulling Esther close, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Something like that,” Blake mutters, not breaking his focus.
When he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he finally pushes up to a stand and lets out a sigh of contentment.
For a moment, his dark brown eyes lock with mine. Something plays at their creases—but it’s more than simply relief. Curiosity, maybe? Borderline appreciation? All of it? In those brief seconds, I wish like hell I knew what was going on in his mind. What I wouldn’t give to know what he was actually thinking.
Such a strange sensation, when your whole life, you’ve never not known the ins and outs of someone else’s mind. Hell, half the time I understand most people better than they know themselves. Makes for awkward and usually irritating romantic entanglements, that’s for sure.
The Chronicles of the 8th Dimension - Limited Edition Box Set (4 Books): A Supernatural Thriller Box Set Page 10
