by Trixie More
Every window in number 1374 was black, reflecting back the orange glints of the sodium lamps on the street. The first-floor openings were boarded up. Any possible entrance points reachable from a landing on the upper floors were covered too. There were no police vehicles on the street. Without them, Sophia was in an awkward position because she had no warrant In the rutted cement drive, weeds grew in the cracks. She walked up the street without changing her pace, telling herself she had every right to be here, acting the part of confidence. When she drew even with the house, she turned down the drive, heading on an angle toward the back. She hesitated here.
A black Ford Explorer sat there at the end. It looked like the car Jacob had driven off in tonight, gleaming and clean. She glanced at the car, heard the ticking of the cooling engine, pulled her phone from her pocket and took a picture, capturing the license plate and a green sticker like a baseball diamond. The letters BD were emblazoned on it. What team was that for? She glanced now toward the back door. It stood wide open. Deep inside, a light was on. In the glow, she could see that the door opened into a room—probably a kitchen or laundry. Just offset from the back door was an interior door, also open, glowing with light apparently from the basement.
Sophia took a deep breath. She flicked her finger over the screen of her phone and saw Doug was moving quickly. He’d texted that he was passing the airport now. She could wait for him.
No, if she did, then he would be in this house with her, where a tip had come in on the very crime he was accused of. She had to get in and out fast enough to stop him from getting inside. She almost sent him one more text, but if there was evidence in here related to George’s death, her phone might be discoverable. It would appear she and Doug were colluding. Damn. She was so screwed. She pocketed her cell.
Best to get this done quickly. Sophia stepped up to the back door, hand hovering over the wood. Should she knock and announce herself? That seemed riskier than just walking in. She crept inside.
Rot and urine assaulted her nose; everything was covered in grime, dust, and droppings. Mouse trails swooped through the dirt, and the toes of her ivory suede boots were dusted in gray. She glanced above her before fully entering. The ceiling was dropping in places, plaster hanging from the edges. Cobwebs were everywhere. Between the door and the basement stairs, the dirt was broadly disturbed, obviously traveled. On the kitchen counter, an incongruously clean laptop sat, closed. She heard a noise from further inside the place, noticed the dirt disturbed from the door to the kitchen and out into what must be a hallway. A thin beam of light roved briefly and disappeared. Someone was on this floor with her.
Sophia crossed to the cellar way. Creeping forward, she heard a noise, the tempo speeding and slowing, a soft hissing. The bare wooden handrail was just a two-by-four. Easing down one step, she tried to see into the cellar. The first five steps were bordered by a wall that came down on both sides, the railing starting at the sixth step. She glanced behind her. No changes there, no flickering beam. She held her breath. There was no sound from the first floor. In the cellar, the hissing sawing continued, except now she could hear heavy breathing. She stepped down two more stairs, ducking her head. She could see the upper walls of the space below her now, the cellar was made of actual stones, the foundation ancient. The stench of rot and damp assaulted her. She crept down another step. On the first floor, somewhere on the other side of the cellar way, a small creak erupted, as if someone had stepped on an old floorboard. She held her breath, and the whispering sawing stopped. Sweat sprouted along her temple and armpits. In the house, silence reigned as if they were all frozen, trying to hear each other. Sophia drew the tiniest bit of air in through her nose. Inhaling and exhaling, rapid and shallow, and silent.
Lightheaded and sweating, she froze on the stairs, praying for someone to move so she could take a full breath. The muscles in her thighs were starting to shake when finally the hissing sound began again. She rose to her full height and drew a deep breath as quietly as possible. How long had gone by? She wanted to check her phone, check for Doug, and she had to bring her will power to bear to resist. The breathing below her started again. She took another step, crouching as low as possible, looking under the railing. She could see a full wall now, and she could see the floor below her, dirt-encrusted cement. She turned her neck and found herself looking straight into a pair of dark eyes.
Sophia froze for a moment, taking in everything in just a moment. A white chest freezer, the lid open. A camping lantern. Four or five containers of pop up disinfectant wipes, a spray bottle of bleach and her boss, one arm deep inside the freezer, stopped amid...what? She whipped her head around and looked for anyone else in the basement. There was no one except the person with the light upstairs, and Jacob had been trying to be quiet. She crept farther down the stairs, hurrying now to join forces with her mentor.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and flicked it to life. Doug must be closer. Now she wished him away. Didn’t want him anywhere near Jacob. She flicked the screen away, bringing up her note-taking software and typed quickly.
Someone is upstairs.
She approached Jacob, who continued to stare at her wide-eyed. He stood up slowly, his arm coming out of the freezer. She turned the phone, so he could read it just as she saw his hand emerge, rubber-gloved, clutching a wipe.
Destroying evidence? She thought. Jacob glanced at her phone and then looked toward the ceiling, nodding. His gaze returned to hers, holding it. He took the wipe and laid it on the edge of the freezer, reaching carefully into his pocket. Maybe he needed an evidence bag? She was still trying to put the picture together. Jacob was here. The swishing hiss had stopped, and frankly, it might have been the sound of him scrubbing the inside of the freezer. There was no indication he’d been collecting evidence, no bags, no note pad, or phone out to take photos. Sophia slowly dropped her arm, trying to angle it to get a picture. If she shook it, the camera would start, but he would notice that movement right now. Above them, something dropped on the floor. Jacob looked up; she shook her phone and raised it, touching the screen, turning on the video. Jacob turned his head, saw what she’d done, and lunged at her.
Stupid mistake to be here! She pivoted and stumbled back, but she knew she didn’t want to get caught against the wall. She needed a weapon and something between them. The only thing she had was her phone. Raising her arm, she prepared to strike him with it or throw it at him. He lunged at her again, and she side-stepped, turning her back on him to flee, trying to gain the stairs. She drew in a huge breath.
“Help!”
Above them, footfalls erupted, as if the person there no longer felt the need to be quiet. Sophia charged up the stairs, taking the first two treads in one stride before her chin collided with a wooden riser, snapping her teeth together, the edge of a board bashing her across her breasts. She registered the grip on her ankle a microsecond later.
Sophia’s arms were trapped beneath her, and she yanked one free, grabbing a stair post and wrapping her arm around it. The phone fell from her hand, landing beneath the stairs. She used her other arm to try to push herself up, twisting to see where Jacob was, trying to kick at his face. His hand flailed as he tried to grab her other ankle. She pulled both legs up, bending at the knees, trying to get a chance to use her quads to kick back at him. Her booted foot connected with his cheek, but it also allowed him to grab it. Both legs caught by him, he leaned back and pulled. Sophia held onto the wooden stair and screamed.
The footsteps above continued, but it seemed the person was moving in circles, definitely not coming toward her.
“Help! I need help!” she yelled. Getting her phone was out of the question.
“Jacob Park, let me go!” Sophia hollered at the ceiling. She let go of the railing and wrapped her fingers around the back of the stair. She could see between the risers into the rest of the basement, dirty, full of old cardboard boxes. Her knees hit the steps hard as Jacob lost his grip on her, she scrambled and managed to run ha
lf crouching up another three steps before he grabbed her again. She was expecting it and kicked out at him with all she had, screeching like a banshee while she scissored her legs and clutched for dear life at the wooden step. She looked over her shoulder as her hip slammed down one step. Jacob was standing with one foot on the floor, one foot on the second step. He had her booted ankle in both his hands, and he was leaning backward, pulling on her, his face out of range of her free leg.
Fresh air flowed down the stairs. Had someone opened the back door? A series of crashes rained down above her, but she kept her focus. Whoever was up there clearly didn’t want to help her.
Chapter 20
Doug hoped the address he had was correct. The damn house the taxi brought him to appeared abandoned except for the dark SUV at the back of the driveway. He got out of the cab, dropped sixty over the front seat, and told the guy to take off. He had a feeling he’d be getting a ride home courtesy of the NJ State Police. Did they arrest people for leaving the city while on bail?
If so, his last ride as a free man was driving away. He had to be out of his mind. What was it about this woman that had drawn his loyalty so quickly? The answer was fast to come. Her damn honesty. She was the most honest person he knew. The most manipulative, too, other than himself, that was. The thought gave him a small bite of irony, and then he was at the back door to the house. Around the boarded-up window, he could see a thread of light. There were sounds from inside, and then his blood ran cold. A woman was yelling for someone to let her go. That woman sounded like Sophia.
He didn’t even think before he crossed the threshold and rushed into the house. Doug had just enough time to see an open doorway to a cellar and catch a glimpse of what looked like a wooden spindle, and then his temple exploded in pain, and he staggered sideways against the door. There was a man’s figure before him, some kind of cap on his head, he could see it, but his vision was blurred like he was underwater and far away.
“Doug?”
The figure whispered his name and then pushed past him. Doug turned to see who had said his name and was struck again, this time on the forehead. He collapsed to his knees.
What’s happening? The words bounced around inside Doug’s skull as he stared into a myopic blur. He covered his eyes briefly. Uncovering the left eye, he saw only blackness. I’m blind?
Uncovering his right eye, a blurred haze of color, light, and dark.
Panic gripped him. I can’t be blind.
A screech erupted from behind Doug. Sophia.
Feeling to his left and right, he oriented himself. His thoughts felt slow, his head was a dull ache that he knew was going to get much worse. Everything in him told him to crawl away. Pivoting on his knees until he felt the door on his right, he got himself facing back into the house. His temple and skull were on fire, his thoughts and vision swimming. Sounds of distress were coming from ahead of him now, raising a second phoenix of panic inside him. He had to get to where the stairs were. Doug crawled forward, sweeping his hands to the left and right. His leg touched something that rolled away. He turned back, feeling for anything he could use to defend himself, defend Sophia. His left hand clutched at a long wooden object. Not a bat, but he didn’t stop to figure it out. It had some heft and was probably what he’d been hit with, so it was effective.
He inched forward, feeling the floor end and pulled himself to standing at what he hoped was the top of the stairs. The sense of empty space sent a wave of trepidation through him.
“Doug!”
“Sophia?”
“Help me!”
How the hell could he help her like this? He felt off-balance, and hysteria kept threatening to overwhelm him. He was blind.
He inched forward, feeling for the top step with his foot. What could he do? He couldn’t see, he was standing at the top of a flight of stairs he’d never laid eyes on, and she was being attacked.
One thing he knew, he couldn’t do nothing. At best, maybe he’d fall on the attacker. At worst, he might hurt her.
“Doug!” Her voice was closer now. He squatted down, felt fingers slide past his. He flailed with his hand but found nothing.
A series of sickening thumps followed, and he heard her grunt, the sound moving down and away.
“He’s nothing but a scared little rich boy.” A man’s voice, mocking, from below him. Whose?
Doug didn’t know.
Moist, disgusting mildew, and musty decay filled Sophia’s nostrils; grains of dirt ground into the cheek that was lying on the filthy wooden step. There seemed to be unlimited space within her panic, as if she could see everything clearly, the dust, the light streaming from behind her, the cobwebs beneath the step above her head. The next moment, time jolted forward again. Pain exploded in her neck as Jacob pulled her down another stair. Escape was everything.
Jacob had her by one leg. Her free-swinging right foot connected with his wrist, and he grunted, but he didn’t let go. His brows were scrunched down, his eyes slits above the grimace on his face. She kicked out at his arm again, and for a moment, he let go to try to grab for her. His fingers slid over her toe and then he latched onto her boot, biceps bulging, and leaned back, pulling hard. Her right hand lost its grip on the stair. Her hip slid off the step, giving her less leverage. Leg pumping, she managed to get her hip back on the tread. If she could only...Sophia pulled hard, got more of her body weight supported by the staircase, brought her leg up, and slid her right foot along her left leg until it rested on the top of her left foot. She looked over her shoulder again, making sure she had it right, and then she pushed the ivory boot off.
Understanding dawned on Jacob’s face, and then his arms were cartwheeling, her ivory boot in one hand. He staggered backward, and that was all she needed. Sophia launched herself to her knees, pulling herself upright as a man appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Doug,” she gasped, relief flooded her. Thank God!
His expression was a grimace, and what looked like a table leg dangled loosely from his left hand.
“Sophia?”
“Help me,” She pleaded as she reached out her hand toward him, and he squatted down to grab it. She felt a tug on her raincoat.
Pain exploded in her ribs; her breath rushed out of her as she fell again, cheek connecting with the stairs, once, twice, three times as Jacob pulled her backward.
“Doug!” Her voice was a breathless screech, a sound so foreign she took note of it even as she struggled to get her coat off.
“He’s nothing but a scared little rich boy.” Jacob sounded so dismissive, that for a minute, Sophia wanted nothing more than to turn and fight him for the insult. Why was Doug moving so slow?
Her head snapped back, a bright rip of pain sweeping across her scalp. Her hair. Jacob was pulling it so hard she thought it might all rip out of her head. She froze. She could see Doug coming down the staircase. He was sliding his foot forward and stepping down cautiously, once, twice, his gaze unfocused. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Be careful,” she said, not even knowing why. Doug’s head snapped toward the sound of her voice as dread pooled and rippled in her gut. What the hell was wrong with him? Had he been hurt? She was trying to pull her arms out of her coat, and Jacob now had her by the belt. Doug’s face, his forehead had a dark purple streak across it.
“Stay there,” she said. Instead of stopping, Doug’s pace picked up.
“Shut up,” Jacob said and yanked her upright, clutching her to him, one hand gripping her hair, one arm around her waist.
“Keep talking, Sophia,” Doug said. “How many people are there?”
“Two,” she cried. Jacob yanked on her hair. “One down here, holding me. One upstairs.”
Doug came down three more steps, moving faster.
“Only two more steps!” She didn’t know if he could see. His head tracked her voice, but his eyes were looking awkwardly away.
His foot landed with a thud on the cement.
“One down here?”
“Jacob Park, from the prosecutor’s office, ugh!” Jacob yanked her so hard she lost sight of Doug.
“Sophia!”
“He’s got my hair, he’s behind me, Ahhhhh!” This time she felt strands rip from her burning scalp. The hand around her waist lifted to her throat. Sophia twisted, using all her weight to fall to the floor, bringing Jacob down with her. Doug’s feet were right in front of her nose; she put her palms on his shins. “We fell, he’s...” the wind choked out of her.
A slam reverberated just before him.
There was no panic, nothing but ice-calm focus for Doug. He’d been like this before, in prison, fighting instinctively with no hope for survival, fighting as four men pulled him down, rolled him over, while inside him pure, vicious fight became all that was left to him.
Hands on his legs, Sophia’s voice saying something. She was low below him. The long fingers on his shins could belong to anyone. He moved quickly, no hope of winning, only pure savageness left. Lifting the wooden stick, bending, feeling a rounded scalp beneath his hand, short hair, not her. The wood whistled past his ear, wailing its revenge on the descent. Sophia shrieked, and then the wood connected with the skull in his hand, pulverizing his own finger as it connected.
He was yelling, calling her name; she was calling his back. He hadn’t hit her. He kept calling, belting out the word that meant her, listening as she moved farther away, bringing back his foot.
“Sophia!”
“Doug.”
Kicking out like her life depended on it, connecting too soon with something both soft and hard. The impact of the blow reverberated up his leg, and he felt a surge of triumph.
“Sophia!”
“Doug.”
Making sure she was out of range, he landed a series of rapid kicks now, arms out to his sides for balance.
“Sophia!”
“Doug.”
