The group “oohed” and “aahed” over the children’s center, scattering among the pristine workstations and play areas. Warden McIntosh stood watching them like a proud father. Then his face changed. Grace Brookstein was hovering by one of the bookcases looking pale and ill. Damn it. He’d completely forgotten about Grace. The last thing he needed was to have his most notorious prisoner distracting the group’s attention from the jewel in Bedford’s crown.
He whispered in Hannah Denzel’s ear. “Get her out of here. Quietly. She’s a distraction.”
The prison guard’s cruel eyes lit up. “Yes, sir.” This was more like it. Walking over to Grace, she grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Let’s go, Brookstein. Back to your cell.”
“My cell? But I-I can’t,” Grace stammered. “I’m working.”
“Not anymore you’re not. Move it.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out. Panic rose up in her throat like vomit.
“Is something the matter?” Sister Agnes glided over. “Can I help?”
“No,” snapped Denny, pushing Grace toward the door. She resented the Sisters of Mercy’s presence at Bedford Hills. Sister Agnes should back the fuck off to her rosary and leave the inmates to the professionals. “Warden wants this one on lockdown. And he doesn’t want a scene.”
Grace looked pleadingly at Sister Agnes. Help me!
The nun smiled kindly at her friend. “Don’t look so woebegone, Grace. You could do with a little rest. Enjoy your afternoon off. We’ll still be here tomorrow.”
Yes. And now so will I, thought Grace. She could have wept.
IT WAS THREE FORTY-FIVE BEFORE LISA Halliday was able to get out of the children’s center. That slave-driving do-gooder Sister Theresa had given her a list of chores as long as her police record. Sprinting to the warden’s office, she marched up to the reception desk.
“I need to see the warden,” she panted. “It’s urgent.”
The receptionist looked at the surly bull dyke in front of her and stiffened. “Warden McIntosh can’t see anybody today. He has a delegation—”
“Like I said. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry,” the girl repeated. “He’s not here.”
“Well, where is he?”
The receptionist’s tone got frostier. “Out. He’s in meetings all afternoon. Is it something I can help you with?”
“No,” Lisa said rudely. “I want the organ grinder, not the friggin’ monkey.” She had to see the warden and she had to see him alone. If word got out that she was the fink who’d sold out Grace Brookstein, she’d be finished at Bedford Hills.
“Then there’s nothing I can do.”
Lisa sank her great bulk down onto one of the hard chairs lining the wall.
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
CORA BUDDS LEFT HER JOB IN the kitchen at ten of four and hurried over to the children’s center as arranged. Two mothers were saying good-bye to their kids while a single, bored guard looked on.
Cora asked one of the mothers, “Where’s Grace?”
“In lockdown. Denny dragged her off hours ago. She didn’t look well.”
Cora thought, I bet she didn’t. That’s it, then. If Grace is in lockdown, the whole plan goes up in smoke.
She walked into the storeroom alone. Maybe it’s for the best.
GRACE SAT ON HER BUNK, STARING into space. She was too drained to cry. It was over. God knew when she’d have a chance to try again. Maybe not for years. Years in which whoever killed Lenny would be out there, free, happy, unpunished. The thought was unbearable.
Mindlessly, she looked at the clock on the wall: 3:55…4:00…4:05…The truck would be there by now. Cora would be loading it, alone, wondering what had happened.
At 4:08, Grace heard the jangle of keys in the lock. Karen’s shift must have ended early. At least she’d be pleased the escape plan had failed. The door swung open.
“Get up.” Denny’s eyes blazed with spite. She’d been brooding all day over Sister Agnes’s words to Grace. Enjoy your afternoon off. As if this were some sort of summer camp! There were no afternoons off at Bedford Hills. “You missed four hours of work detail this afternoon, you sneaky little bitch. Thought you were on vacation, did you? A free pass?”
Grace said meekly, “No, ma’am.”
“Good. Because there are no fucking vacations in A Wing. Not while I’m in charge. You can make up those work hours, starting right now. Get your ass over to the children’s center and start scrubbing the floors.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When you’ve finished, do it again. And you can forget about eating tonight. You stay on that floor, scrubbing, till I come for you, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“MOVE!”
Grace bolted out of the cell and started running down the corridor. Denny watched her go, a slow smile of satisfaction spreading across her face.
She had no idea that Grace was running for her life.
CORA BUDDS HAD ALMOST FINISHED LOADING the crates.
The truck driver grumbled, “I thought there was gonna be two of yous? I’da brought another guy if I’d known.”
Cora shrugged. “Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?” It was already dark in the cramped courtyard backing on to the children’s center storeroom. The temperature was below zero, but the biting wind made it feel even colder. The boxes were small, about two feet square. Looking at them, Cora couldn’t imagine how Grace had ever thought she was gonna squeeze herself inside one. They were also heavy. Their weight, combined with the finger-numbing cold, made the work slow going.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Grace stood shivering in the lamplight. Still in her skirt and thin cotton blouse, she was ridiculously underdressed for the winter evening. The wind sliced into her skin like razor blades. Cora Budds’s eyes widened in surprise but she said nothing.
The driver looked pissed. “Are you kidding me? This is your number two? She couldn’t lift a cup of coffee, never mind a crate of clay.”
“Sure she can,” said Cora. “You can leave it to us now.”
“Fine by me.” The driver climbed back into the welcoming warmth of the cab. “One of you ladies give me the nod when you’re done.”
Back in the storeroom, Cora and Grace worked quickly. Sister Agnes or one of the guards could come back any minute. Cora pulled Grace’s documents out of the pocket in her jumpsuit, stuffing them into Grace’s bra. There were four fake IDs with matching credit cards, a slip of paper with an anonymous Hotmail address on it and a small wad of cash.
“Karen has a friend on the outside who’ll wire you more money with Western Union when you need it. Just e-mail an amount, the zip code you’re in and the initials of the fake ID you’re using, and this person will do the rest. Take this, too.” She handed Grace a silver stiletto. “You never know.”
Grace stared at the blade in her palm for a second, hesitating, then slipped it into her shoe. Cora pried open the lid of one of the crates, emptying its contents at lightning speed. Somehow the box looked even smaller when it was empty.
Cora said, “I don’ think it’s possible, Grace. A cat couldn’t fit in there.”
Grace smiled. “It’s possible. I was a gymnast when I was younger. Watch.”
Cora watched in awe as Grace climbed into the box, ass first, folding her tiny limbs around herself like a double-jointed spider. “Girl, that looks painful.” She winced. “You sure you’re okay?”
“It’s not exactly first-class travel, but I’ll live. Try the lid. Am I in?”
Cora tried it. Easy. About an inch to spare. She levered it open again. “You’re in. I’m gonna load the rest of ’em now. I’ll put you three rows back, so you’re hidden at the checkpoint, but leave the lid loose so you got some air.”
“Thanks.”
“Sit tight till you get through the checkpoint. Once you’re outta here, soon as the truck stops, you jump.”
“Got it. Thanks, Cora. For everything.�
�
Good luck, Amazing Grace.
Cora Budds replaced the lid and carried Grace out into the darkness.
WARDEN MCINTOSH EYED LISA HALLIDAY SUSPICIOUSLY.
“This had better not be some sort of scam.”
“It ain’t.”
“Grace Brookstein is in lockdown. She’s been in her cell since lunchtime. Besides, A-Wing prisoners never work on deliveries. Sister Agnes knows the policy.”
“Sister Agnes don’t know her pussy from her paternoster.”
“That’s enough!” the warden snapped. “I won’t have you disrespecting our voluntary staff.”
“Look. You don’t wanna check the truck? Fine. Don’t check it. Jus’ don’ say I didn’t warn you.”
Warden McIntosh did not want to check the truck. It had been a long day. He wanted to finish up his paperwork and get home to his wife. But he knew he had no choice.
“All right, Lisa. Leave it with me.”
THE DARKNESS WAS DISORIENTING. GRACE HEARD the rear doors of the truck slam shut. For a moment fear gripped her: I’m trapped! But then she relaxed, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. It was uncomfortable, coiled inside the crate like a marionette, but she could bear the position. The cold, on the other hand, was debilitating. Limb by limb, Grace felt her body start to go numb. Her head ached violently, as if she’d just sunk her teeth into an ice cube.
The engine rumbled to life. We’re moving. Soon, all Grace could hear was the beating of her own heart. She said a silent prayer:
Please God, don’t let them check all the boxes.
THE THUD WAS SO LOUD, THE driver heard it through his blaring Bruce Springsteen CD. One of the crates must have come loose.
“What the fuck?” Slamming on the brakes, he climbed out of the cab. Dumb-ass fucking dykes. How hard is it to stack a bunch of boxes? All they had to do was put ’em one on top of another.
Grace heard the rear door open. Rays from a flashlight seeped through the crack above her head, where Cora had left the lid loose. She held her breath
“Goddamn it.”
Crates scraped noisily across the metal floor of the truck. The next thing Grace knew, her own box was moving. Oh God, no! He’ll see me. But the driver didn’t see her. Instead, pulling Grace’s crate forward, he noticed the loose lid and banged it shut with his fist. Then he lifted another box and piled it on top of Grace’s. The rear door slammed. Grace felt the lurch of the truck as it pulled away.
Cold beads of sweat broke out all over Grace’s body.
She had no air.
I’m going to suffocate.
FOURTEEN
WARDEN MCINTOSH STORMED INTO THE CHILDREN’S CENTER. All the kids had gone home. A lone inmate was clearing away the last of the toys.
“You alone here?”
“Yes, sir. I’m waiting for Sister Agnes to come back and lock up.”
“There was a pickup scheduled for four P.M. today. Did that happen?”
“I think so, sir. Cora Budds was in the storeroom.”
“What about Grace Brookstein? Have you seen her in here this afternoon?”
“No, sir. Cora tol’ me she’s in lockdown.”
Warden McIntosh relaxed. Lisa Halliday had gotten it wrong. Grapevine information was often unreliable at Bedford. Still, protocols had to be followed. He picked up the phone on Sister Agnes’s desk.
I’M GOING TO DIE!
Grace was already hyperventilating. As she felt the truck stop, her hopes soared. They must be at the checkpoint. She tried to scream.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
For weeks, she had dreaded this moment, terrified that the guards would discover her. Now she was terrified that they wouldn’t. Without air, she would die in this box long before the truck reached the depot.
“Help!” She was yelling as loudly as she could, but her lungs didn’t seem to be working properly. The words came out soft and breathy, muffled by the crates above and to the side of her. The guards heard nothing.
“What’s this lot, then?”
The driver handed over his paperwork. “Modeling clay. About two tons of the stuff.”
“All right. Let’s take a look.”
The two guards began opening the first row of boxes.
Please! I’m here!
Grace knew in that moment that she didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.
I have to find Lenny’s murderer first. I have to make them pay.
She started to feel dizzy. Aware she was beginning to lose consciousness, she called out again.
One of the guards stopped. “Did you hear anything?”
His companion shook his head. “Only my teeth chattering. It’s friggin’ cold out here, man. Come on, man, let’s get this over with.” Pulling forward another crate, he dumped it on the ground, opened it and checked inside. He did the same with another. Then another. As he was opening the fourth, the driver pleaded, “Come on, you guys, give me a break, wouldya? You know how long this shit took to load? I got a six-hour drive ahead a me and I’m freezing my ass off.”
The guards looked at each other. They could hear the distant ringing of a telephone, back inside their warm, comfortable surveillance tower.
“Okay. You’re good to go.” They signed the driver’s papers and handed them back to him. “Drive safe.”
Sixty seconds later, the truck was cruising out through the prison gates.
Grace Brookstein was still inside.
GRACE AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF the engine gaining speed. Relief overwhelmed her.
I can breathe! I’m alive.
One of the guards must have loosened the lid of her crate! Why didn’t they find me? It’s a miracle. Someone up there must be looking out for me. Maybe it’s Lenny, come back as my guardian angel?
For a few seconds she felt euphoric. I made it out of Bedford. I did it! But reality soon reasserted itself. She was a long way from being home free. Uncurling herself slowly and painfully like an arthritic jack-in-the-box, Grace pushed up the lid and climbed out of her cramped hiding place. The rear of the truck was freezing and pitch-dark. It took a minute for the circulation to return to her legs. As soon as she felt strong enough, she began to stumble forward, hands stretched out in front of her like a zombie, feeling for the truck’s rear door. After what felt like an eternity, her fingers stumbled upon a handle. It was stiff. She couldn’t move it. Just as she was wondering whether the driver had double-locked the doors from the outside so she wouldn’t be able to open them, the handle suddenly shifted.
It all happened in an instant. The rear door flew open with such force Grace was pulled along with it. Suddenly she was outside, clinging on for dear life, her shins banging agonizingly against the bumper as she dangled one-handed above the ground. They were on an empty, unlit road, moving at incredible speed. How fast? Fifty miles an hour? Sixty? Grace tried to calculate her chances of survival if she fell. Before she came up with an answer, the road forked into a hairpin turn. The driver swung a sharp left. Grace felt the door handle slip from her grasp, as if someone had dipped it in butter. Next thing she knew, she was flying through the air like a rag doll, hurtling toward the trees. The last thing she heard was the thud of her own skull hitting the ground.
Then nothing.
WARDEN MCINTOSH YELLED AT HANNAH DENZEL.
“Why the hell did you send her back to the center? Who gave you the authority?”
Denny bristled. If Grace Brookstein really had escaped, she was damned if she was going to take the blame. This was the warden’s problem. “I have the authority, sir. Work details on A Wing are my responsibility. The delegation had left, and Grace had unfinished work. Who gave the Sisters authority to have A-Wing inmates supervise pickups?”
The two guards from the North Gate checkpoint were also in the warden’s office. Warden McIntosh quizzed them. “You’re certain Grace Brookstein wasn’t on that truck? You checked every crate?”
From the look on McIntosh’s face, the guards figured ho
nesty was probably not the best policy. “Every crate. The truck was clean.”
Warden McIntosh’s head was throbbing. Then where the hell is she? He turned back to Hannah Denzel. “I want Cora Budds and Karen Willis in here right now. In the meantime, alert all police units. I want that truck found, stopped and searched.” He looked at the two guards ominously. “If you guys have fucked up, I’ll have both your heads on a plate.”
“Yes, sir.” But everyone in the room knew that the first head to roll would be the warden’s.
GRACE OPENED HER EYES SLOWLY. BENEATH her was a blanket of deep undergrowth. Springy and prickly like an old straw mattress, it must have broken her fall. Her head was filled with a loud whirring.
No. It’s not in my head. It’s overhead. Choppers.
They’re looking for me.
She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Minutes? Hours? What she did know was that she was freezing cold, so cold that it was hard to move. She also knew that she was in grave danger. In the short time she’d been inside the truck, they could not have gotten more than a few miles away from Bedford Hills. She had to put some distance between herself and the prison.
Gingerly, Grace got to her feet. By some miracle, nothing seemed to be broken. Gradually her eyes acclimated to the darkness and she could make out the shadows around her. She was standing in woodland just a few feet from a quiet country road. Not quiet. Silent. A single twig cracking beneath her feet sounded as loud as a thunderclap.
I have to get out of here.
Her left side was bruised and stiff, but she found she could walk without too much trouble. To her right, the tree line jutted up into a steep escarpment. From the top of the hill, Grace heard the dim rumble of traffic.
Sidney Sheldon's After the Darkness Page 15
