As she ran by square bales of hay, her bloody hand brushed against one of the Christmas lights. Its intense heat caused her to recoil. Wincing, she dropped to her knees at the small square latch.
All hope fell away as she grabbed the chain and master lock that secured the small upper door from the inside. He’s thought of everything. Ellie glanced down at her trembling palms. They were punctured with splinters that made grooves under flesh. Scarlet bubbled out of the wounds and leaked onto the wooden floor. She glanced back at the hooded man, who was nearly up on the loft with her. Ellie could drop to the ground floor and keep running and hiding, but that wouldn’t get her out of this godforsaken place. There were fewer Christmas lights up here than there were on the ground level. Nonetheless, there were a few long lines of lights coiled around the rafters and wrapping the two pillars. There was the pillar Ellie brushed against and another one parallel on the other side of the loft. She glanced at the hay and then at the lights. She rose up hastily and grabbed the line of Christmas lights nailed into the rafters. The small nails popped out as she pulled the rope of light and let them fall onto the dry hay.
The hooded man reached the top of the loft as small wisps of smoke began to rise from the square bales. Ellie dashed to the other side of the loft, tearing down the lights as she went. The bulb landed on more hay. As the hooded man went to stomp out the tiny flames sprouting up around him, more ignited on the other end of the loft. Having been dry for so long, the bales took to the fire quickly.
The hooded man gave up on trying to put it out and went for Ellie. She bumped into the dangling fake out and leapt from the flaming loft. The landing was not smooth and left her with bruised knees and palms. She twisted back, watching the blaze consume the loft. It made a semi-circle of flame over her head.
Ellie lost sight of the hooded man and snuck into one of the stalls. She hid behind the line of mannequins that clenched knives. She was tempted to grab one but didn’t want to alter anything that might alert him to her whereabouts.
The stranger shouted. “You know I made this special place for someone like you.”
Ellie peered in between the mannequins and squeezed a long splinter from her hand. She held back a cry as the wooden spike pulled from her flesh. The loft groaned above her. She glanced up, watching the wood blacken. The ceiling of the stall opposite of hers collapsed in, spilling flaming wood over the mannequins. Their milky white skin began to melt away under the blazing wood.
The hooded man climbed down from the ladder. Clenching the scythe, he started to check one stall at a time. Ellie looked up at the wood weakening over her head. She needed to run before it fell in, but if she left now, she’d run right into the killer’s arms.
Ellie saw the man approaching. Black smoke rolled over the stranger and filled the barn with a toxic haze. Wood crackled out of view. Ellie grabbed the bent kitchen knife from one of the mannequin's hands and tossed it into a nearby burning stall. The hooded man turned that way. He approached the fire, intrigued by the noise. Ellie used the two-second distraction to dart out of the stall. With a loud crash, the flaming wood tumbled over where she was hiding.
Coughing, Ellie tripped over her foot and landed on the dirt floor. The flames spread around her. She faced the back wall. Behind her, she felt the eyes of the hooded man watching her. Ellie rolled over to her bottom.
Surrounded by fire, the hooded man’s black silhouette loomed a few yards from her. He clenched his scythe tighter. “You should’ve never have taken what wasn’t yours.”
He moved forward and raised the weapon.
Ellie’s heart pounded. The smoke crawled down her throat like a snake. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Her vision was blurred and her eyes stung. She scurried backward, using her wrists to move because her bleeding palms were in so much pain.
“Goodbye, Ellie,” the man said with the smallest hint of regret.
Crack!
The rafters snapped over their heads. Flaming blocks of wood crashed down between Ellie and hooded man. The blaze danced across the nearby support beams. Smoke wafted up to the hole on the ceiling and into the night sky.
The hooded man paced to each side of the flaming debris, trying to find a way to Ellie. The wall of fire kept him from passing. He coughed, pulled out a key ring from his front pocket, and started toward the chained front door.
Ellie covered her mouth with her shirt. She watched the flames grow higher. The plastic mannequins caught fire, popped and melted. The Christmas lights flickered out or exploded under the heat. Ellie scrambled to her feet. The flames close in her. The barn seemed to lean in. It would fall soon. The fire touched the wall behind her and blackened its wood. I’m not dying in here, she told herself as she coughed. She picked up the axe from the floor and approached the charred wall. Enduring the pain in her splintered palms, she raised the axe over her head and slammed it against the weakest part of the wall. The impact sent a wave of force up her arm muscles. Ellie swung again, drinking smoke into her lungs. Chunks of wood splintered away from the back wall. She hit it again and again. Her arms were throbbing with pain. She could barely keep her eyes open. She thought of Troy. She wouldn’t let him die. She wasn’t going to die either. Not like this. Not today. She hit the wall again, seeing the beginnings of the hole. After two more solid strikes, a few of the vertical planks fell away. Sliding sideways, she tumbled through the blackened breach and stumbled onto the dewy night grass. Black smoke billowed out behind her. She was covered in soot and hacking up half a lung
Behind her, the barn moaned and groaned. She spotted movement on the right side. Her heart rate spiked, even though it was already raging. When will it end? She moped for about a split-second before spotting the well. It was either that or run deeper into the woods. Getting lost in the dark would prove problematic. Leaving the axe behind, Ellie darted to the well. She climbed over the well’s stone wall and hugged the inner rim. She didn’t know the well’s depth but from her current position and this late hour, it looked like she was staring into the abyss.
Ellie held on with her fingertips and forced to herself to be quiet, despite the pain.
The hooded man walked by, and called her name. “Ellie. Ellie!”
Ellie bit into her lower lip to keep herself from whimpering. Her fingers were slipping, and she was holding back a cough. The hooded man passed by again, not bothering to peek into the well. Ellie battled the temptation to make a run for it now; she didn’t want to risk being seen or heard. After a few moments, Ellie heard the barn crumble in on itself.
The hooded man shouted, though Ellie couldn’t tell from where. “Come out, Ellie. Or someone else will have to pay the price for your deeds.”
Ellie kept holding her breath. Her fingertips were now throbbing with painful numbness. She waited a moment before trying to pull herself over the rim of the well. She only needed a peek.
She reached upward. Her fingers slipped on the stone. Suddenly, she fell backward, and the darkness of the well consumed her.
6
THE WELL
Darkness swallowed Ellie. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t blink. Her only thought was that the well’s circular opening looked awfully like an eclipse. It grew smaller and smaller the faster she fell. Her back hit the water like it was a sheet of glass and instantly, she was submerged. Her arms and legs floated upward while her body drifted down. Algae-filled water flooded her mouth, tasting of slime. The darkness only grew darker, and the water turned colder every second.
Ellie opened her eyes, seeing nothing. Her body told her to swim upward. Waving her arms and legs, she raced to the surface and burst free. She grabbed onto a stone jutting out from the well’s walls and, teeth chattering, turned her eyes up to the small hole high above at the top of the vertical shaft. Smoke drifted over the star-speckled sky. Ellie lowered herself into the water to where only her head could be seen and waited for her body temperature to adjust. With bloodshot, teary eyes, she watched the entrance of the well, waiting f
or the killer to return. Only dark skies and dissipating smoke. As quick as a flash, the hooded man appeared, grabbed hold of the rim of the well, and gazed down.
Ellie ducked into the putrid water. She held her breath and shut her eyes. She counted. First to five and then ten and finally to twenty-five before rising from the water.
The hooded man was gone when she resurfaced. Did he see her? Was he coming back? What if he was getting his pistol? He would literally be shooting Ellie like she was a fish in a barrel. Ellie twisted around the confining space. Mosquitoes buzzed over the water. In the moonlight, she saw mosquito larva wiggling just under the surface. Ellie felt sick. She wasn’t sure how much of the nasty water she had drunk, but it was enough to make her stomach groan and her mouth to be filled with the taste of algae.
She brushed her fingers on the stone walls around her. The simple action made her hand burn with agony. She turned her palms to the moonlight, seeing the wealth of splinters stuck into her flesh. She pinched the largest with her fingernails and drew it out. It was two inches. She sniffled and did the same for the next splinter. By the time she finished, her hands stung worse than they did before. She washed them, watching the faint crimson swirl in the water. It was far from hygienic, but Ellie just needed to get the wood from her body, and the water would help. Similar to cobblestone, the walls were rigid but the stones didn’t protrude out far enough for her to get a good grip. If Ellie had to guess, she was about thirty feet deep. Understanding depth and distance were an artist's best friends. Especially as Luminists, where Ellie showed intricate detail natural landscapes under soft light and full of immaculate detail. She missed those days, the ones from weeks ago where the idea of barns, woods, and country life filled her with awe, inspiration, and peace. If she were ever able to get out of this well, she would be happy to be back in the big city.
After some struggle, Ellie got proper finger and toe holds on the cobblestone, but was only able to get about two feet out of the water before falling back in. She bumped into something under the water. It was squishy. Ellie ducked down, grabbed the soggy thing, and brought into the moonlight. It was a dead crow, swollen with water and two times its normal size. Ellie gagged and let it fall back in. Little bubbles escaped its beak as it sank to the bottom of the well. Hopeless, she pulled her cellphone from her back pocket. It was broken, unsurprisingly. Her wallet and cash were ruined too. Her rental car keys were missing. Wonderful, she thought with dreaded sarcasm. She tried to formulate some sort of escape plan but was drawing blanks.
Sirens sounded. Ellie first thought she was dreaming, but then the noise grew louder. The fire must’ve attracted some attention.
“Help!” Ellie shouted at the top of her lungs. “I’m trapped down here!”
She listened to the distant sirens and kept shouting and splashed her arms around to make as much noise as possible. The little hope she had quickly faded as no one returned her calls. Her voice cracked. No one bothered looking into the well. Soon, the smoke was gone and the sirens faded away. Ellie yelled some more, forcing herself to believe that someone would hear her. It was futile. The firefighters, or whoever was out there, had left.
Ellie sank back into the water. Her expression was hollow and downcast. She didn’t have the exact time, but she knew the twenty-four-hour period to prevent Troy’s death was coming to a swift close. More terrifying was with the killer’s five-hour drive back to Northampton, there was a chance that he could arrive at Ellie’s apartment at the exact twenty-four-hour mark since the mural’s creation if he left for Northampton. It was all coming together, she realized. The killer didn’t care about Troy, but he blamed Ellie for something. Perhaps for saving Andrew’s life. If he couldn’t take out his anger on Ellie physically, he would go for Troy. Even worse, her husband would be completely unprepared, because Ellie never told him about the mural and her plan to prevent it. From down here, Ellie could do nothing.
She brushed her foot around in the water, feeling for anything that might assist her escape. She tried with both feet, moving slowly and methodically. Nothing. She closed her eyes and rested her back against the well’s walls. It would be a long night, Ellie knew. And it was.
The only thing worse than the waiting was the silence.. The cold water turned her into a prune. The bandage on her neck had grown soggy, and the stench of the dead bird hung on to her like expensive perfume. She tried to stay positive in her thinking, but it all felt like lies. She wondered how many people came out to this part of Lancaster. No one, probably. It began to dawn on her that she could be spending days in this well. The thought made her ill with dread. What would happen when she needed to eat, drink, or use the potty? More dreadful thinking. If there was ever a time to pray, this was it. Perhaps whatever higher power “blessed” her with the death portraits knew she’d fall into this well, that it was all part of a master plan, whatever that may be. Or perhaps the cosmos was correcting its mistake. Ellie dies, the portraits cease, and the world’s natural order is restored. All it would cost was Ellie’s life. Well, if she was indeed the only one with the power. It had only crossed her mind in passing, but what if she wasn’t alone in her struggle? What if there was someone else out there having a blackout and painting Ellie’s demise: a sad thirty-two-year-old artist starved to death at the bottom of a well. It was far from a wonderful thought.
Sometime during the night, Ellie heard the faint bays of dogs or wolves. However, the shaft had a way of blotting out most noise, and Ellie questioned if she had heard anything at all. What if the fire truck sounds were an illusion too? She guessed it didn’t matter much at this point. Trapped meant trapped, and Ellie would have to get really creative or give up. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the night slugged onward. Ellie didn’t know why she was resisting sleep. Heaven knew that if she was able to pass out in a hellhole like this, her body needed some shuteye.
Sometime during the night, she must’ve passed out, because she was a child again in the room of her parents’ home. She was lying belly down on the bed and drawing something with crayon. She couldn’t have been older than six or seven, though Ellie couldn’t recall her exact age. There was a knock on the door.
Little Ellie told the person they may enter.
Her grandfather, a jolly old man with a love for Lionel trains and model airplanes, entered, and told her dinner was to be served. There was still daylight outside, but they always ate earlier when their grandparents were around. Ellie told grandpa to give her another five minutes to finish the drawing. Always agreeable, her grandfather accepted her request in exchange for seeing Ellie’s latest masterpiece. He sat down on the bed with her. His weight sank the mattress. He glanced over Ellie’s shoulder and looked at the construction paper. The curious smile on his face sank into a heavy frown.
“What is this?” Grandpa inquired with a worried tone.
“A drawing,” Ellie replied normally.
She turned the paper so her grandfather could get a better look. It was of an old man lying on the floor of a convenience store. The color red leaked out of his head. The entire drawing was extremely detailed to be the creation of a seven-year-old.
The dream changed suddenly. Ellie was dressed in black and a few days older. She was standing in the living room with her family and some old people she’d never seen before. Everyone was crying or telling stories about Grandpa and his legacy.
Ellie pulled on her mother’s sleeve because her father was too distraught to talk to anyone. Her mother looked down at her with a pitiful smile. “I miss him too, sweetie, but he’s in a better place now.”
“What happened to Grandpa?” Ellie asked.
Her mother looked dreadful. “I’ll… I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“But…”
Cousin Darsey, a freckle-faced troublemaker, approached Ellie. “He was shot, don’t you know? Convenience store robbery.”
Ellie felt a sudden heat on her face.
She opened her eyes and was her thirty-two-year-old
self again. The morning sun streamed down the well and cooked Ellie’s cheek. Ellie adjusted her posture. Her back ached. She’d spent the whole night leaning against the cobblestone wall. Her damaged hands were pruned. The stench of the crow had only grown worse, and she saw mosquito bite marks up and down her forearms. It had been a horrible night. Her head throbbed. Her eyes hurt. She was hungry, tired, but it seemed like sleep only made her feel more fatigued. She moved. Her legs felt like numb noodles. When she stretched, her bones popped. She parted the bangs of her bob cut and looked up at the entrance. There were two blobs under the sun. She cupped her hand over her eyes. After getting some reprieve from the radiant light, Ellie could see the blobs were the shapes of human silhouettes.
Ellie shouted. “Hey! Down here! Can you hear me? I’m trapped! Hello?”
Her cry became more and more desperate and broken as she shouted.
One of the figures replied. His voice echoed down the shaft. “We hear you. We’re going to get help.”
“Don’t leave me!” Ellie begged.
Stolen Secrets: A Collection Of Riveting Mysteries Page 18
