by R M Wild
“You did?”
“Yes, for drug possession. Mettle had arrested him. It was one of the first cases I took in Dark Haven. I had forgotten all about it. He had been found with half a pound of weed stashed inside a Bible, but it was right before Maine voted to legalize, so I got him off. I had spent all of three hours representing him. My point is, we had some files on him at the office. I dug into his past a little bit and discovered that when he was a teenager, he had been arrested for arson.”
I stared at the grocery bags. The shapes of the rum bottles were still visible.
I could have sworn Mettle had said he arrested Caesar for hiding Molly inside a hymnal.
“That particular case never went to court either. Not enough evidence. But it confirms your suspicion that Roman Caesar is a dangerous man. If there’s any chance that he murdered Matt Mettle, then you can not risk five minutes inside a jail cell, not if you have any interest in staying alive.”
34
I sat on one of the barstools at the counter while Kendall spread more towels over the leak in the door. He mumbled something about a chink in the armor and a crack in the castle wall.
“I’m worried about Caesar too,” I said, “but I have a business. A life. Friends—or one friend, at least. And a father. I need to get back to the inn. I can’t stay here forever.”
Kendall looked up from the endeavor, his face red. “You have to relax. Eldritch is in charge of the inn. He can take care of it.”
“I do trust him, but I don’t want to stay in hiding. I need to resurrect my business. I need money.”
“Don’t worry about money. I’ve got plenty.”
There was no way I was going to live off an allowance for the rest of my life. “This isn’t the first time someone’s been after me, you know. I’ll be super careful.”
“Have the cops been after you before?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know what it’s like. You’re vulnerable from both sides. There’s no reason why Caesar should wait until you’re in jail to come after you. If he thinks you’re a loose thread, he’ll try to snip you loose,” Kendall said. “Or cauterize the ends.” He stood and stuffed the last towel into the crack at the bottom of the door with the pointed toe cap of his shiny shoe. “None of this was my choice, you know. I wish our first outing together was somewhere in Jamaica or something. Maybe one of those all inclusive resorts.”
“Our first outing?”
“Sure. As a couple. You know, if things work out.”
I shifted my weight uncomfortably and had to put a foot on the floor to keep from sliding off the stool. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful, Kyle. I’m not. I really appreciate your help. But staying shut up in this cabin all day is not a long-term plan. If I’m ever going to get out of this mess, I have to find enough evidence to clear my name and put Caesar on the other side of the bars.”
Kendall smiled, then went to the bathroom, and came back with another towel. “I will see what else I can find out about Caesar.”
“Thank you, but it’s not just about Caesar.”
“Then what?”
“Chrissy.”
Kendall smiled again and twirled the towel into a long strip, as if he was about to whip someone’s butt in the locker room. “Fine. I will take you back to Dark Haven in the morning.”
“You will?”
He laid the towel at the base of the French doors. “Yes. Whatever you want. However stupid,” he said. He left the towels where they were and headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a nap. I was up all night. Trying to help. But if you’re going to throw it all away—”
“Don’t be like that.”
“I’m not being like anything. I’m disappointed, that’s all.”
“Kyle, please—I’m very grateful.”
He put his hands up. “It’s fine. It is. Really. I’ll take you back to the inn on my way to the office tomorrow morning. Good?”
“Good,” I said quietly.
And with that, his head disappeared past the ceiling. Somewhere overhead, a door slammed.
The rain refused to let up. It pummeled the roof and whipped against the siding, hard enough that every time I finally got some respite and had a chance to explore my grief and try to make peace with what had happened to Mettle, another gale came and splashed the windows and jarred me back to reality.
After a few hours, I pictured the cabin floating off its foundation and drifting away on the lake like a storm-tossed ark. The towels couldn’t hold back the flood and the puddle spread toward the living room rug. Feeling weirded out and not wanting to share the same floor as Kendall, I sat on the couch, but had to keep my feet up on the coffee table to keep my socks from getting soaked.
With no Internet and not enough battery left to read, I grabbed the remote control to see what was on the television. Strangely enough, I couldn’t remember the last time I had watched a show. When I was young, my mother didn’t have a television. Robert’s wife watched her soaps all day long and never let me watch anything. Once I was in high school, I had too much homework to watch TV. And later, during the five years I lived in New York, I couldn’t afford to pay for cable. Finally, even though it might have been a selling point for my guests, I never called the cable company after inheriting the inn, figuring that in this day and age, my guests would just watch Netflix or YouTube on their phones.
Besides, I much preferred reading.
But I couldn’t risk my phone dying. I pressed the power button, but nothing happened. I shook out the batteries and pressed it again. The TV finally came to life and flooded the dark room with blue light.
Up in the corner of the screen, it said: No Signal. Connect Input.
I turned off the television, tossed the remote on the couch, and went up to my room.
Tired and depressed, I climbed into bed.
But the rain on the roof, on the window, on the walls, was relentless. I pulled the covers over my head, but could find no escape; the rain was as loud as if I were outside in a tent.
The never-ending torrent reminded me of my first night at the inn. With the tide lapping at the shore hour after hour, sleep had proven impossible. But at least in Dark Haven, there was a certain pattern to the tide. Once I had gotten used to the ebb, the slapping waves had become background noise. In fact, I had even gotten so used to them that I couldn’t sleep without them.
Even the traffic in New York was the same; after a few nights, it had become a soothing pattern in the background. But this torrential rain was different. It was as unpredictable as a noisy furnace that switched itself on and off at random intervals.
I stayed under the covers, but the longer I couldn’t sleep, the more frustration kept me awake. My head swirled with images of Mettle doing pushups—then catching fire. Of Mettle drinking his protein shake, a white mustache on his upper lip—then catching fire. Of Mettle pulling me over for speeding, lowering a pair of aviator shades—then catching fire. Of Mettle leaning into kiss me—then catching fire…
After a while, the fire spread to my hair.
I tossed and turned, tormented by the torturous torrent. I had no idea what time it was—probably early morning, for the window was still black and streaking, when I heard footsteps in the hall.
They paused outside my door.
I lowered the sheets. “Kyle?”
Then there was loud banging, loud enough to make the whole cabin shudder, loud enough to echo inside my head and rattle my brains.
It took me a full minute to figure out what was happening.
Someone was swinging a hammer at my door.
35
I sat up. “Kyle, seriously. Is that you?”
In between the banging, I caught every other word: “Closed. Dawn. Back. Rosie.”
I recognized Kendall’s voice. He sounded like one of the human characters on Sesame Street: always patronizing.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Maintenance. Go back to sleep.”
That was impossible; the banging was louder than the rain. I went to the door and tried to open it. The knob turned, but the door wouldn’t budge.
Kendall kept banging, each blow right in front of my face.
I tried the knob harder. Nothing.
“My door is stuck!”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s only temporary.”
“What?”
“Go back to sleep.”
I put all my weight into trying to push the door open, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Are you barricading me in here?”
“It’s for your own good,” he said.
I banged on the door, my fists in competition with the hammer. “Let me out of here!”
“I will,” Kendall said. “It’s only temporary. You have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust people who lock me up!”
Kendall kept hammering. I kept banging my fists. The rain kept pounding the roof. The racket was worse than a bunch of children given drumsticks and empty garbage cans, but above the angry din, my banging heart was the loudest. No wonder the door had been the only one in the hallway to open outward. No wonder the frame had looked like Swiss cheese.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you!”
“Once, yes. As a safe house. For a client who was in danger. I’m headed back to Dark Haven and I’m going to call the cops and clue them onto Caesar. I’m going to get this whole mess sorted out so you can go back to your life.”
“Take me with you!”
He stopped hammering and put his mouth up to the door. “I’m sorry Rosie. I can’t bear to see something bad happen to you.”
“This is bad! This is against my will. What if I have to pee? Or worse?”
“I’m sorry. It won’t be long. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”
“You don’t have to lock me up. I won’t go anywhere.”
He didn’t answer. I panicked.
“Kyle?!”
“I need you to stay quiet,” he whispered through the door.
“I will not be quiet!”
“Please, Rosie. If someone comes while I’m away, don’t make a sound. Stay absolutely quiet.”
“What? Who’s coming?”
He didn’t answer. I thought I heard a shuffle, but it was hard to tell in the racket of the rain. I might have heard the jangle of a tool bag. I might have heard his footsteps on the stairs. I put my ear up to the door and listened hard, but all I could hear was the rain.
“Kyle!” I screamed. “Who is coming? The cops? Do they know where I am?”
No answer.
I banged, I clawed at the edge of the door, I kicked, I screamed, but I couldn’t get the door open. He had barred it well.
I paced the small space beside the bed, the darkness in the window gradually turning to gray. I sat on the bed, I sat in the devil chair, I paced. I wasn’t one to do pushups, but this must have been how Mettle felt when he was locked in that tiny cell. My go-to escape had always been my books, but with my phone’s battery down to ten percent, it wasn’t an option.
Sometime after the gray completely replaced the black of night, the rain slowed. The morning was cloudy and dark and a rain-streaked misting covered the window.
I checked my phone. Still no signal. Eight percent left. I turned my phone off completely to save what was left of the battery.
Later, after what must have been three miles of pacing, I heard a loud whir, like fans spinning down. The whir was followed by a loud beep and then the only sound was the faint patter of gentle rain.
I grabbed the remote control and tried the television. Nothing. I pressed the power button repeatedly. Still nothing. I pulled the chain on the lamp. Nothing at all.
The power was down. All those clouds and rain yesterday must have kept the solar panels from recharging the house battery and now the entire cabin was dead. Even if Kendall actually returned with my charger, I wouldn’t be able to charge my phone, not until the sun came back out.
I flopped onto the bed and draped my arm over my forehead. I had to pee. I had to eat. I had to get out of this prison. I got up again and went to the window and pressed my forehead to the cold glass. If the power was down and the heat wasn’t working, then I couldn’t even open the window or I’d let the cold inside.
I tried to see down below. The bedroom was on the second story, a straight drop to the ground, made even higher by the concrete steps of a walk-up basement beneath me. I couldn’t remember seeing a door to the basement anywhere inside the house.
Then I realized: if the power was down, then the security system was down too. The security cameras would be off. The thought sent a ripple of anxiety through my system.
Escape. My only chance.
I could try the cartoon prison thing and make a rope out of my bedsheets. That might get me half the way down, far enough to drop the remaining story.
How bad would a ten-foot drop hurt?
It depended on the landing. Defying my own survival instincts, I yanked the bedspread off the bed, rolled it up, and tied one end to the bedpost. Then I ripped off the sheet and tied that to the end of the bedspread. As if I were showing a display of strength with a pair of nunchucks, I grabbed each piece of cloth on either side of the knot and yanked them as hard as I could. The makeshift rope gave a snap and the knot held.
This was a truly terrible idea. Yet, I didn’t stop working. I yanked open the window. A cold mist blew into the room and I shivered. I pulled the devil chair over to the window, grabbed my prison-rope, climbed up, fed the rope out the window like Rapunzel letting her hair down, and put one leg over the sill.
I clenched the rope with all my strength. I had never been good at the rope climb in gym class. But this wasn’t climbing, I told myself. This was going down. I leaned back, my full weight pulling on the rope. I stuck my second foot out the window, but the bedpost creaked and shifted and my weight dragged the whole bed skittering across the room. The end of the bed slammed into the chair and I jerked backward and dangled out the window.
I swung there in the gray mist, my muscles tightening and growing weak. My heart thumped against the siding and panic stole the rest of my energy.
I was going to fall to my death.
36
I tried to pull myself back up to the window. I kicked and wiggled, but didn’t have the strength. These were swimmers arms, not rock climbing arms.
I was going to fall and land on the ground like a bag of pretzels. Stupidly, I looked down to see how high I was, but a white shape in the distance caught my attention.
A van emerged from the trees. It was coming down the driveway.
I remembered what Kendall had said.
If someone comes while I’m away, don’t make a sound. Stay absolutely quiet.
Adrenaline surged. I summoned all my remaining strength, kicked against the siding, and managed a single pull up back to the window. Once my head was level with the sill, I took one hand off the rope and reached for the devil chair.
I pressed my toes to the siding, clawed for the upholstery, and crawled back through the window.
I fell headfirst onto the chair cushion and then scrambled to turn around and pull the makeshift rope back inside or else I may as well have been waving a white flag to signal my whereabouts.
I closed the window just as the van disappeared around the edge of the cabin and pulled up to the front door. I had no idea if I had been seen or not.
The house battery was dead. I listened, but there were no beeps signaling someone’s entrance. Whoever it was must have keyed into the house manually.
I sat against the wall under the window, my whole chest heaving. I crouched and tried to peek out the window, but couldn’t see anything. There hadn’t been any markings on the van. It could have been the police, a K-9 unit, or a party of molesters.
I considered pushing the bed up against the door for extra fortification, but worried the scraping
might give me away. Then I realized that was a silly concern; the boards on the door might as well have been a neon sign advertising my presence.
If someone kicked down my door, what was my recourse? Should I dive out the window?
Or maybe now was the best time to try to escape. Maybe I could swing down to the ground, climb into the van, and escape—but only if the intruder had conveniently left their keys under the visor as they did in poorly written mystery novels.
Still, what other options did I have?
I peeked out the window again. No sign of anyone.
Then, I heard a door open. It sounded like it was right below me. I pressed my cheek to the cold window and tried to look down.
Two men, dressed in white painter’s coveralls, were carrying a canoe out of the basement. I strained to watch them carry the canoe around the side of the cabin and then they disappeared again, eclipsed by the edge of the siding.
They were definitely not cops. They must have been carrying the canoe down to the lake. But why? Did they know I was here? Did they even care?
I opened the window and leaned my head into the cold mist. I couldn’t see anything. I grabbed the chair to anchor myself and leaned out farther, but I still couldn’t see past the corner of the house.
I closed the window and sat against wall. The window had been open long enough to chill the entire room and I shivered and hugged myself.
If Kendall returned, I couldn’t let him think I had tried to escape, so I untied my prison rope and wrapped myself in the sheets for warmth.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Sometime later, I heard an engine. With the sheets draped over my shoulders, I crouched and peeked out the window again. The van was leaving. Two ladders that I hadn’t seen before were strapped to its roof. Its taillights headed up the driveway and then disappeared into the misty woods.
