by Sharon Sala
The thought of getting trapped in one of these mobile closets made her teeth ache. She looked up, watched the number light up on the floor she wanted, and then watched in dismay as it passed and continued downward, moving faster and faster with each floor it passed.
“No, no, no,” Honor muttered to herself, dropped the stack of papers she was holding, and started punching the emergency button over and over with frantic force. Nothing happened. The car continued to slide toward what Honor knew could only be disaster.
Trace! The thought of him coincided with the instant jolt of the car as it came to a sudden stop. She fell backward, catching herself with outstretched arms, and felt a twinge of pain as she leaned hard on her left wrist. Just when she began to breathe a sigh of relief, the lights went out.
It was the blackest black Honor had ever experienced in her life. She literally could not see her hand in front of her face. She held her breath, instantly afraid that the car would begin to move again. She knew if it did that she was too close to the bottom for another safe stop. This time it would crash.
Afraid to move, she lay quietly on her back, willing her heart to a normal rhythm, and waited for help to come. Someone had to have heard the screeching gears when the car finally stopped. Or surely they’d discover what had happened when they tried to use the elevator. All she had to do was wait.
It was the sound of footsteps on the roof of the elevator car that alerted her of someone’s presence. Someone was coming to help.
“Thank God!” Honor muttered. “Here!” she called. “I’m in here! Please help me!”
The footsteps stopped. Honor knew she’d been heard. Nothing happened! No one answered her! That was when she began to worry. And when she heard the tiny opening being removed from the roof of the elevator above her head, her heartbeat quickened. What did this mean? It was easy to imagine the worst when nothing but blackness swirled around her. Panic made the thick, dark air harder and harder to breathe. Honor struggled with the need to scream aloud in fear. But she sensed this was connected to the episode outside the restaurant several days earlier and wouldn’t give whomever was above the satisfaction. Her fears were confirmed as she heard the harsh, gulping breaths before he began to whisper. His soft, raspy words sucked the air from her lungs as fear wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed. Then her heart began to race and she scooted as far into a corner of the car as she could get.
“Go home, bitch!” he whispered. “Get out while you’re still in one piece. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
“Who are you?” she asked, and pulled herself quietly to her feet. If she was going to be attacked she wasn’t going to be on her back when it happened.
But there was no answer. Just the sound of the plate being replaced in the roof of the elevator car, then sliding sounds, as if he were crawling or climbing. She couldn’t tell.
The car jerked, the lights came on, and as if nothing unusual had happened, started back up to the floor Honor had chosen when she’d first entered the elevator. She watched in silent fear as the door opened and then breathed a frantic sigh of relief. There was no one there. She bent over, quickly gathered the scattered papers to her breast, and ran from the elevator as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.
She knew she must look like she’d been hanging out the window of a freight train as all eyes in the main office of the legal department turned to her. But she didn’t care what they thought, and she offered no explanation.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the jumbled stack of papers into the receptionist’s hands. “I dropped them. Tell Hastings he’ll have to sort them again.”
She was gone as quickly as she’d entered. And when she arrived back at her grandfather’s offices, she ran past Irene’s desk into Trace’s office and closed the door behind her with a bang. She grabbed his jacket from the coat rack, threw it over her shoulders, and wrapped it and herself into a ball in the corner of the long leather couch.
“Trace,” Honor whispered through tightly clenched teeth, trying desperately not to cry, “I need you to come home. Dear God, I need you here, now! I can’t deal with this mess by myself. Do you hear me, Trace Logan? I need you! Why haven’t you called?”
She wrapped her arms around her tightly drawn-up knees, buried her face against Trace’s jacket and began to shake. By tomorrow, unless she was very much mistaken, she was going to be very, very sore. The fall she’d taken in the elevator had been a hard one, and her wrist was already beginning to throb. She just hoped it wasn’t cracked or broken. How would she explain it to J. J. if it was?
She could wait no longer for Trace’s call. She would find him herself. She knew the name of his hotel, called information, and soon had a number. But when she dialed, the reception was less than desirable.
“Burlington Hotel,” the man answered.
“Please,” she gasped, struggling unsuccessfully to control her panic. Her voice shook as she continued. “I need to speak to Mr. Trace Logan.”
“Logan? Logan?” Silence and then a bit later an answer. “Sorry…not in his room at present time. Leave message?”
Honor sighed. This person didn’t speak much of the English language. But she was desperate. She had to try.
“Tell him that Honor called. That it’s an emergency. He must call me soon. I’ll be waiting.” And then she whispered to herself, “And praying.”
“Yes, yes,” the man mumbled. “Honor will be served. Of that you can be assured.”
She had her doubts, but there was no need chiding him. She started to ask him to read the message to her when he disconnected.
The remainder of the day was uneventful, but Honor couldn’t rest. She kept imagining that everyone she passed in the halls was the mysterious stranger who’d caused the near-tragic accident. She knew it was silly. She hadn’t seen a thing, and she hadn’t recognized the voice. It had been nothing but an evil whisper. She knew one thing for certain. She wasn’t getting back on the elevator alone.
* * *
Trace slammed the phone down in disgust, wiped a hand across his weary eyes in frustration, and yanked open the door of the phone booth. When he got home, the first thing he was going to do was insist that the phone system at the Malone home have Call Waiting. Either no one was home or the damn phone was busy. Honor must think the absolute worst. And he’d been more than a bit surprised that she hadn’t tried to call him.
He’d checked his messages daily, and the only one he’d received made absolutely no sense. It had been something about hastily obeying the call to worship. He’d tried to question the desk clerk, but no one could clear up his confusion. He finally decided that it had been meant for someone else and tossed it away.
His anxiety about his prolonged absence from Honor was increasing. He’d expected to hear from her before this. But he’d cleared up nearly all of the misunderstandings regarding Malone Industries. If all went as planned tomorrow he’d be on his way home.
And when he got there, he and Honor were going to have a very long talk about their future. And then they weren’t going to talk at all. He smiled to himself, and headed for the conference room.
* * *
Going to the office had taken on a whole new meaning of the word “boredom” for Honor.
She’d started to argue with her grandfather about continuing to accompany him to work and then could tell by the size of the crowd outside the Malone mansion and the look on his face that she was going to have to spend another day with him as bodyguard.
“Let’s go, girl,” J. J. called.
Honor sighed as she kneaded at a lingering soreness in the lower portion of her back. At least she’d suffered no lasting effects of her episode in the elevator. Evidently no one had noticed a thing at Malone Industries and that was just the way she wanted it. She’d called entirely enough attention to herself just by showing up in Colorado Springs. Mentioning the fact that she was now being terrorized would feed the flames of her existence to new heights with the newspapers. Trace would call,
and then he would know what to do. Until then she’d just wait.
She searched the hall table for her purse, picked it up and stuffed it under her arm, took one final look at her appearance and decided that if this red-and-black plaid jacket and matching slacks were too flashy that it was just too bad. She hadn’t planned on staying this long and was running out of choices. And now that this mess with the media had occurred, a simple shopping trip was out of the question.
Trudy would be home tomorrow, and that would be the last of J. J.’s excuses. She could stay home and await Trace’s return in comfort.
She knew J. J. secretly liked having her go with him. It had given them an opportunity to get to know each other better. And she knew that when it came time for her to leave, he was going to put up one big argument.
Last night during dinner, Honor had finally admitted to him that she’d gone to the library and read about the history of the Malones and her disappearance. Afterward, he’d shown her a wealth of family pictures rich with images of a family that had rejoiced at her arrival into the world. The picture of a tall, dark man holding his baby carefully against his chest and the slender, dark-haired woman leaning against his arm, looking up in laughter, would be the only image she would ever know of her parents. But she could feel nothing more than sorrow for what might have been. The memory of Charlie was too great. Her love too overwhelming. The loss too fresh.
* * *
“So what do you think now, girl?” J. J. had growled softly, as she’d closed the cover of the last album.
“I don’t know what to think, J. J. But I have something I want you to read. And then you tell me what you think. Okay?”
He nodded his approval and waited in the library for Honor’s return. When she came back, she was carrying a blue leather-bound book clutched tightly to her breast. She walked to his chair, took a deep breath, and then handed him the book. He started to open it when her words ceased the motion.
“It’s Momma’s journal. The lawyer had it and gave it to me after Trace’s arrival. Maybe after you read it, you’ll understand a little bit of why she did it.”
“Do you understand?” J. J. growled.
Honor was silent for a moment, and then with her usual honesty, replied, “Sometimes I think I do. And then sometimes I want to cry with the useless waste of it all. But I loved her, J. J., I loved her very much. That hasn’t changed.”
“Fair enough,” he said, and opened the cover. He began to read, and when he did, Honor left. She couldn’t watch him see into her mother’s soul.
A long time passed before J. J. came looking for her. He found her in the kitchen making cookies and raised his eyebrows at the mess of flour and bowls scattered on the cabinet. “Trudy will have your hide.”
“No, she won’t,” Honor said. “She likes me. Besides, I’ll clean it up. I had to do something. This seemed the most productive and it took no thought.”
She turned and stared, waiting for him to say something about the book he carried in his hand. Finally, she blurted it out. She could wait no longer.
“So, what do you think of Charlotte O’Brien now?” Her voice shook. She felt as if his pronouncement of the contents of the journal were vital to how their relationship would progress from this moment on.
He shook his head regretfully and laid the journal in a safe place away from the mess on the cabinets. “It didn’t help at all, girl. Until I read this, I had a clear picture in my mind of some vindictive, vicious woman who’d taken my darling granddaughter. Now I don’t know what I feel except an overwhelming sadness that somehow this could have all been avoided if she’d just had someone who cared.”
A sob pushed its way past the lump in her throat as she threw her arms around J. J.’s neck. It was the first spontaneous emotion she’d shown toward him since they’d met.
“I knew you’d understand,” Honor whispered in his ear, and placed a kiss on his weathered cheek. “Here…” She pulled away, and grabbed a plate filled with the fruits of her labor. “Have a cookie, Grandfather. What Trudy doesn’t know won’t hurt you.”
He grinned, took a handful of the forbidden treats, and was on the way to his room to go to bed when he realized that she’d called him Grandfather. Elation, joy, and even a bit of sadness for the many years wasted before he was able to experience this overwhelmed him.
He started to go back when he realized she’d done it as unconsciously as he’d accepted it. A slow, warm feeling started around the region of his heart and spread to every portion of his body. This was more than he’d dreamed of and less than he wanted. Before he was through, he’d have this family back together the way a family should be.
Honor cleaned up the kitchen, knowing Trudy would soon be home, and went to bed, satisfied that a step in the right direction had been taken tonight. She felt better than she had in a long time. Now if Trace would come home, she’d really feel at ease. She slept soundly, unaware that this would be the last night of peace that she would know for days to come.
* * *
Honor started down the long, quiet hallway as she exited the secretary pool at Malone Industries. She was still filling her time posing as an errand girl for her grandfather’s office. She had just delivered a multipage defense contract that was to be copied and then collated. Her thoughts were jumbled, her emotions mixed. A phone call last night, just before she’d gone to bed, had stirred old memories and made her more than a bit homesick.
* * *
Hearing her Uncle Rusty’s voice filled with dismay and concern had nearly been her undoing. He’d tracked her location through Hank, the bartender at Charlie’s, and it was evident from the bits and pieces of conversation he’d let slip, that he was fully aware of his Charlie’s part in Honor’s present situation. It was also evident that he wasn’t any too happy about her presence in a place he knew nothing about and with people he’d never met. He still considered Honor his girl, and nothing was going to change that.
“When are you coming home, honey?” Rusty had pleaded.
“I don’t know, Uncle Rusty,” Honor hedged. “I check in at Charlie’s nearly every day. Everything seems to be running smoothly whether I’m there or not. I feel like I just haven’t quite done what Momma intended for me to do when she sent that letter. I’ll tell you one thing. This has certainly been building my character.” Her wry remark, referring to an old adage that Charlotte O’Brien had used over and over when referring to dealing with troublesome situations, made them both laugh.
“Well,” he finally concluded, before he hung up. “You have my number. If you ever need me, sweetheart, I expect to be called. You’re all I have left of my Charlie, and I don’t intend to lose you, too. Do you hear me?’ His voice was gruff, and Honor knew he was probably close to tears.
It was no more than she’d experienced. She missed all her friends back in Odessa. She was also more than upset that Trace had not returned her call. He’d promised. And after her scare, she’d needed him desperately. She couldn’t understand his lack of communication.
* * *
“Going up?” the man behind Honor asked, and stopped her reverie with a rude awakening.
She jumped, unaware that she’d been standing in front of the elevator, staring at the closed doors. Evidently he intended to use the car, but she had no intention of getting on that thing again, especially with a strange man.
“No! No, thanks,” she mumbled, and turned away, searching the hallway for the lighted Exit sign leading toward the stairway. She would take the stairs.
The stairwell was cold, the air-conditioning obviously funneling through the upright tunnel like air through a pipe. Her steps echoed up and down the free space of the stairwell, making it sound as if an army of men were marching beside her. She shivered, partly from the cold, partly from the eerie feeling of being so isolated in such a narrow space.
Honor scoffed at herself, decided that this sensation was just a holdover from being stranded in the tiny elevator car, and continued upw
ard when a door from the floor behind her opened. She turned in sudden fright.
“Honor!” Erin Malone called. “I haven’t seen you in days. I wasn’t certain you were still here.”
Erin was ill at ease, but still willing to try to make conversation with Honor. Her conscience had been bothering her badly ever since the evening they’d spent together, and she was surprised at the pleasure she felt when she’d seen Honor ahead of her on the stairs. The girl had been more than decent toward her, and, she told herself, Johnny had been her favorite brother.
“Oh!” Honor said, obviously breathing a loud sigh of relief. “I didn’t know it was you. You startled me.”
Erin frowned. She read more into Honor’s innocent remark than Honor meant to impart.
“Why so jumpy?” she asked, as she stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up as Honor paused on the steps above. “Have you been having more problems with the press?’
“No…not with the press,” Honor hedged, and started to walk down a few steps when she saw Erin’s expression change.
She saw Erin’s eyes change direction, saw her look of recognition, and saw her start to smile. That was when Honor felt the breath on her neck and the hands at her back. There wasn’t time for fear, only the shock of falling through space and the look of horror on Erin Malone’s face as she came hurtling toward her. After that, nothing.
* * *
“Megan! Honey! Do you hear me?” J. J.’s voice was frantic, his hands gently searching the crumpled heap of his beloved granddaughter at the bottom of the seventh-floor landing. “The paramedics are on the way. Please, Meggie, don’t leave me,” he pleaded, in tears at the sight of the huge bump forming on her forehead.
Erin knelt at his side, her heart twisting in horror at what she’d unwittingly witnessed. She was torn between jealousy at the term of endearment J. J. had just used when talking to Honor and the shock of watching her fiancé actually push Honor down the stairs.
Hastings had watched Honor fall through the air, watched her roll and bump down the last few steps, and then had given Erin a strange look of warning before he disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs. Why had he done such a thing? Erin hadn’t indicated a desire to participate in anything so horrifying. She was more than a bit fearful of the fact that he’d done this in front of her; implicating her by presence if not actual participation, and then staring at her so harshly. If she didn’t know better she would have read that warning look he gave her as, You’re next if you tell.
