The Dells

by Michael Blair

  Shoe, Janey, and Wiseman moved down the hall, checking the bedrooms, turning on lights as they went. The first bedroom was simply furnished, clean and neatly kept, but unoccupied. The one across the hall was similarly furnished, but everything was covered in a thick patina of dust. When Shoe turned on the lights in the third room they were momentarily dazzled by the brightness. It appeared to be some kind of studio, with video cameras and powerful lights surrounding a big bed. The white-haired woman lay on the bed, curled into a tight fetal ball.

  “From Rachel’s description,” Wiseman said, “that must be Ruth Braithwaite.”

  Shoe bent over the bed. “Ruth?” he said. She whimpered and curled into a tighter ball. “Ruth, where are the women who came to speak to you?”

  “Hello,” a muffled voice called through the door of the room across the hall. “Is someone there? Help.”

  Wiseman rushed across the hall and rattled the door before noticing that it was secured with a heavy sliding bolt. He slid the bolt and opened the door.

  “Oh, Doc. Thank god,” Claudia Hahn said, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “You’re hurt!” Wiseman said, alarmed.

  Claudia stepped back. Her mouth was bloody, one eye was swollen shut, and her throat was beginning to bruise. She tried to smile, and winced. “I’m all right.”

  “Where’s Rachel?” Shoe asked.

  “I don’t know. They took her.”

  “Who took her?”

  “Dougie Hallam. And Tim Dutton.” She became aware that her blouse was open, revealing a blood-stained camisole, and tried to refasten it, but most of the buttons were missing. “They’ve been making pornography with Ruth and growing marijuana in the cellar.”

  “Do you know where they took her?” Shoe asked.

  “We overheard them talking about killing us,” she said. “And disposing of our bodies in the Dells.”

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “I don’t know. I was unconscious for a time, I think. It couldn’t have been very long ago, though. Where’s Ruth?”

  “She’s in the other room,” Shoe said. “Where are her sisters?”

  “Dead,” Claudia said. “Interred in the cellar.” She held her hand to her mouth; it obviously hurt her to talk.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Shoe said. “Go with Harv. I’ll bring Ruth.”

  Shoe went into the makeshift studio. Ruth was still on the bed. She whimpered and fretted as he picked her up, but she put her arms around his neck. As he carried her down the hall to the living room, she whispered against his chest.

  “She ran away.”

  “Who ran away, Ruth?”

  “That girl. The boy’s sister. Joe’s sister. She ran way and he chased her. Him and the other one. Into the woods. He’ll hurt her. He’ll hurt her too.”

  He lowered Ruth onto the sofa. She clung to him. He had to gently pry her arms from around his neck.

  “We need to call the police,” Wiseman said, casting about for a telephone.

  Janey went into the kitchen. “There’s a phone in here.”

  Shoe went into the kitchen as Hal puffed up the stairs from the basement, followed by the harsh stink of wet burnt paper.

  “Someone’s growing marijuana down there,” he said, between ragged breaths. “They tried to start a fire with a space heater and some cardboard. I put it out.” Through the doorway to the living room he saw Claudia Hahn and Ruth Braithwaite. “Jesus, what happened? Where’s Rachel?”

  “Harv will explain,” Shoe said. He headed toward the front door, Janey going with him.

  “Where are you going?” Hal asked, following Shoe and Janey out into the yard.

  “I’m going after Rachel,” Shoe said, as he opened the passenger door of the car. “Ruth said she ran into the woods, with Dougie Hallam and Tim Dutton after her.” Sure enough, there was a flashlight in the glove box. More important, the batteries still held a charge.

  “I’ll come with you,” Hal said.

  “I need to move fast, Hal,” Shoe said.

  “She’s my sister too,” Hal said.

  Shoe knew Hal would never be able to keep up. “All right, but when we find him, stay out of my way.”

  He ran down the footpath into the dark woods, Janey keeping up without any trouble.

  chapter fifty-three

  Rachel ran for her life, fear gibbering at the edge of her consciousness. She could easily succumb to panic, she knew, but she knew too that if she panicked, she would in all likelihood die. The fear gave her strength, however, as adrenaline raced through her. And so, ignoring the pain in her feet, she ran through the moonlit woods, undergrowth slashing at her upraised arms, whipping at her face, ripping at her clothing, snagging her ankles. Leaves and twigs and fallen branches crackled and snapped underfoot, sounding like gunshots in the stillness of the night. Suddenly, the ground dropped out from under her. She plunged down a hillside, fell, rolled, slammed against the trunk of a tree, and scrambled to her feet, still running. Through the trees she could see the lights of houses, but they seemed impossibly distant, and whenever she turned toward them, Hallam turned in the same direction, threatening to cut her off.

  He was relentless. He bulled through the woods as though the undergrowth that slowed her was mere shadow to him. Despite her superior speed and agility, she could not shake him. What little distance she gained in the open, she lost when the tangled brush closed in again. He knew the woods better than she did, too, despite the dark, like a blind man in a familiar room. At least she could hear him, stamping and cursing behind her. At first, he had called to her, taunting her, telling her what he would do to her when he caught her, but he’d soon stopped, saving his breath for the chase.

  She had to get out of the woods. If she could get to the street, any street, she could run full out, scream, call for help. He seemed to anticipate her every move, however, forcing her still deeper into the woods.

  She scrambled up a steep hillside, feet slipping on old leaves and twigs, breaking nails as she clawed at the loose earth, rocks, and roots. The ground levelled and she found herself on a footpath atop a high ridge. She heard Hallam swear as he lost his footing and slid noisily a few yards down the hillside. She could see the lights from the backs of the houses along Cantor Street, less than two hundred metres away. She turned — and ran straight into Tim Dutton’s arms.

  “Gotcha,” he said, gripping her upper arms. “I got her,” he shouted.

  Rachel struggled. She heard Hallam scrambling up the ridge. She clawed at Dutton’s face and tried to knee him in the groin, but he turned her and held her in a tight embrace. She was caught. Hallam emerged from the trees. She drew a breath and opened her mouth to scream.

  The darkness imploded.

  chapter fifty-four

  A few metres into the woods, Shoe stopped at the fork in the trail. To his left, skirting the broken-down wall at the bottom of the Braithwaite property, was the path to his parents’ house. To the right, along the top of the rise, was the path leading deeper into the woods. He turned the flashlight off; it only impaired his night vision. The waning gibbous moon provided sufficient illumination.

  “Which way did they go?” Janey asked.

  Shoe gestured for her to be quiet, straining to hear. Rachel would have gone left, toward their parents’ house, in which case she would likely be home free. If she’d been forced to go right …

  “What was that?” Janey said.

  Shoe heard it too. Voices coming from deeper in the woods, and the sound of something large crashing through the underbrush.

  “This way,” Shoe said.

  They took the right fork, running carefully along the top of the rise, then descending into the shallow ravine. The path was indistinguishable in the moonlight, leaves rustling underfoot, twigs and dead branches snapping and cracking. Shoe stopped at the bottom of the ravine, at the base of the higher ridge. He stood still, listening intently. Had he heard a shout?

  “What is
it?” Janey whispered.

  Suddenly, a shrill scream pierced the night, and was just as suddenly cut off. It had come from above and to his left. Shoving the flashlight into the back pocket of his jeans so he could use both hands, Shoe scrambled up the steep ridge. He was breathing hard when he reached the top, Janey right behind him. He turned left, and jogged along the trail, as quickly and as quietly as he could. Thirty metres away, a shadowy, many-limbed creature twisted and heaved grotesquely in the moonlight, changing shape as he ran toward it.

  “Hallam?” Shoe shouted.

  The shape momentarily froze, then a segment of it seemed to break off, separate itself from the main body. The new shape became a man, who ran away along the trail atop the ridge, until he disappeared into the darkness. The main shape stood its ground as Shoe closed.

  “That’s far enough.” The shape resolved into Dougie Hallam, with Rachel on her knees before him. Her head was cocked at an odd angle, Hallam’s left hand clamped on the back of her neck. Blood, black in the moonlight, covered the left side of his face, and his left eye appeared to be grotesquely swollen.

  “Be careful,” Janey whispered urgently, voice tight with fear. “He carries a butterfly knife … ” She was standing close, but her voice seemed to come from a long way off.

  “Let her go, Dougie,” Shoe said.

  “Sure,” Hallam said agreeably. Shoe saw the gleam of metal in the moonlight as, with a flip of his right wrist, Hallam deployed the blade of the butterfly knife. He held the blade against Rachel’s throat. “Back off. Any closer and I’ll slit her throat.”

  “Okay, Dougie,” Shoe said, raising his hands. “Relax.”

  “He and Tim Dutton killed Marty,” Rachel rasped. “And Claudia … ”

  “Shut up,” Hallam snarled, shaking her as though she were a rag doll. “Stupid cunt. When you gonna learn to keep your fucking mouth shut?”

  “Take it easy, Dougie,” Shoe said. “Don’t hurt her. I don’t care about Marty or Claudia. Just let Rachel go.”

  “Maybe I’ll take her with me. To keep you honest. Least till I’m home free.”

  “No,” Shoe said. “Let her go. That’s your only option. You’re free to leave. I won’t try to stop you, but I can’t let you take her with you.”

  “And what’re you gonna do to stop me?”

  “Whatever I have to.”

  “Let her go, Dougie,” Janey said. “I — I’ll go with you.”

  “Gimme a break,” Hallam laughed. “Even if I believed you, what would I want with a worn-out skank like you? Nah, think I’ll just hang on to little Rae, here. Her ass has a lot less mileage on it.” He began to back away, dragging Rachel with him. “You two kids have fun now. Don’t stay out too late.”

  “Dougie,” Janey said.

  Hallam stopped. “Now what?”

  “Just this.” Janey raised her right arm, fist clenched tight on a small, nickel-plated automatic pistol that gleamed in the moonlight. There was a flash and a sharp crack. Hallam ducked and swore, still holding onto Rachel, whose eyes were wide with terror as Janey took aim again, steadying the pistol in both hands.

  Shoe reached for the gun, but Janey slipped aside, stepping closer to her stepbrother. The pistol cracked. Hallam flinched, but Janey had missed again.

  Hallam bellowed. He lifted Rachel, as if she weighed nothing at all, and threw her toward Janey. Janey stepped aside. Rachel fell hard on the ground. She raised herself onto all fours and scrabbled toward Shoe.

  Janey aimed the pistol at Hallam’s head. He cringed, raising his arms to protect himself. There was a dry snap as the pistol misfired.

  Janey worked the slide, desperately trying to free the jam and recock the hammer. With a triumphant bellow, Hallam reached out, his left hand trapping Janey’s gun hand. He closed his right fist around his knife handle and punched her in the face — once, twice. She tried to cover her face with her free arm, twist away from him, but he held her as he hit her again.

  Shoe charged. Hallam wrenched the pistol from Janey’s hand and stepped back. Janey collapsed to the ground. Hallam aimed the pistol at Shoe. The gun was ridiculously small in Hallam’s hand. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “Shit,” he cursed and threw the pistol at Shoe. It bounced off his shoulder.

  Shoe took at step forward. Hallam brandished the knife. Shoe took another step. Hallam lunged, driving the blade straight toward Shoe’s chest. Shoe pivoted left, parrying the thrust with his right arm, lifting his left elbow as he continued to rotate. As he completed the rotation, he slammed his elbow into the back of Hallam’s head. Hallam staggered, but did not fall. He turned to face Shoe in a crouch.

  Shoe didn’t wait for Hallam to recoup, but took the fight to him. Hallam backed away, holding the knife high, almost like a bullfighter holds his sword before the final thrust. He circled to his right, staying beyond Shoe’s reach. In his peripheral vision, Shoe saw Janey crawl through the leaves toward Rachel. Shoe kept him self between them and Hallam, who continued to circle to his right.

  Keeping an eye on Hallam, Shoe took a step back toward Rachel and Janey. As he retreated, Hallam advanced, bringing the knife down, holding it in front of him. The blade wove back and forth, glinting in the moonlight.

  “Just go, Dougie,” Shoe said. “While you’ve got the chance.” He risked a quick look at Janey and Rachel, but he could not tell how badly either was hurt.

  “It’s time to finish it between you an’ me,” Hallam said.

  “There’s nothing to finish,” Shoe said. He knelt beside Janey and Rachel. He felt the bulge of the flashlight in the back pocket of his jeans. He gently touched Janey’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” Janey said. “But Rachel’s hurt pretty bad, I think.”

  Rachel moaned and her eyes fluttered. “Joe?”

  “She needs medical attention, Dougie,” Shoe said. “I’m going to pick her up.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what she needs,” Hallam said, stepping closer, brandishing his knife.

  “Joe,” Rachel said again.

  “Try and pick her up,” Hallam said, “and I’ll cut Janey. We’re gonna finish this, whether you like it or not.”

  “All right,” Shoe said. “Let’s finish it.”

  As he stood, he pulled the flashlight from his back pocket. Flicking it on, he aimed the bright beam into Hallam’s face. Hallam flinched, momentarily blinded. Shoe chopped the flashlight down onto Hallam’s right wrist. He yowled and the knife fell from his hand. Shoe whipped the heavy steel cylinder across Hallam’s face. The lens shattered and the light went out as Hallam sank to his knees. The backswing caught him a glancing blow on the left temple. He fell sideways, rolling away through the leaves and twigs. He lumbered to his feet with the help of a tree.

  “Son of a bitch,” he snarled, wiping the blood from his eyes. “You never could fight fair, could you?”

  “And you’ve always had a unique interpretation of fair,” Shoe said.

  “Fuck you.”

  “It’s over, Dougie. Finished.”

  “It ain’t finished till I say it is.” He took a step toward Shoe.

  There was flash and a crack. A black spot appeared high on the right side of Hallam’s chest. He staggered backwards as the spot began to spread. Another crack and a second spot appeared, a few inches to the left and slightly below the first. Hallam raised his hands to his chest as both spots continued to spread, a puzzled expression on his face, as if unsure what was happening to him. He took a step forward, then collapsed to his knees. Raising his head, he opened his mouth to speak as Janey stepped past Shoe and fired a final shot into her stepbrother’s right eye. Hallam fell backwards, twitched once, twice, then lay still.

  Shoe reached out and took the pistol from Janey’s hand. The metal was warm to the touch and the smell of gunpowder was sharp in his nostrils. He squatted by the body and pressed his fingers against Hallam’s throat.

  “Is he dead?” Janey asked.

  “Yes,” Shoe said,
standing.

  “Good,” Janey said. She slumped to her knees in the leaves. “Good.”

  Shoe looked at the pistol in his hand. Then he raised it, aimed it into the woods over the creek, and pulled the trigger. The pistol cracked and the slug rattled through the leafy undergrowth. He pulled the trigger again, but the hammer snapped down on the empty chamber. He slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Shoe heard thrashing in the woods on the hillside below the ridge. He knelt beside Janey.

  “Janey,” he said quietly.

  “Uh? What?” she replied, voice dulled.

  “When the police ask you what happened, tell them it was your gun, and you tried to shoot Dougie to save Rachel, but that you missed. Tell it the way it happened, but that I killed him. I shot him twice in the chest, but when that didn’t stop him, I had to kill him. Can you remember that?”

  “You shot him twice in the chest, then killed him. Sure. Okay.”

  He looked at Rachel. Her feet were bloody. “Rachel?”

  “Look, I — ” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “All right. Sure. If that’s what you want.”

  Shoe stood as Hal emerged from the woods. Huffing and grunting, he staggered a few feet then sat down in the leaves. “Did I — did I hear — gunshots?” he gasped. Then he saw Dougie Hallam’s body. “Jesus,” he said, scuttling away from the body like a massive crab. “Jesus. Who —? Is he dead?”

  “Yes,” Shoe said.

  “Jesus,” Hal said again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Shoe said.

  Hal struggled to his feet and stood looking down at Dougie’s body. “You’re just going to leave him here?”

  “He’s not going anywhere. Do you have a phone?” Hal shook his head. Neither did Janey or Rachel.

  “Dougie has a phone,” Rachel said.

  Shoe looked at Dougie’s body. He did not want to go through the dead man’s pockets to look for his cellphone, not because he was squeamish, but because he did not wish to disturb the crime scene.

  “We’ll call the police first chance we get.” To Rachel, he said, “Can you walk?”