by Willow Rose
Seeing the look on her face made me chuckle. She almost looked like my mother. I wasn't happy about bringing her since I feared something bad might happen to her, but at the same time, I couldn't blame her for wanting to go, and I kind of liked that she did want to go. This case was as much hers as it was mine by now. Maybe even more hers than mine. Besides, Emily was a good scuba diver, and I should know since I was there when she took her certificate.
"You really shouldn't go in the water at this hour," the owner said. "It's dark and shark feeding time."
I helped Emily find a mask that fit, then put my own gear on before I looked at him.
"We'll take the chance."
Chapter 68
Nassau, Bahamas, October 2018
I had always heard that diving at night opened a door to a new world of adventures, even when visiting sites you had dived a dozen times before. This was mostly due to the fact that there was a shift in the environment's inhabitants as nocturnal creatures emerged while the familiar fish and ocean life disappeared. It was also due to the fact that the diver's perspective changed at night. During the daytime, divers tend to look at the big picture, seeing whole swaths of reefs and frequently miss many of the smaller things. But at night, the limited visibility narrows your focus.
I had never been in these waters before, and I had never dived at night either. I didn't tell that to either the man in the shop or Emily. After going over the signals and ways to communicate with one another, I sunk myself into the black waters, Emily following close behind. And that was quite different than what I had previously experienced during my diving trips to the Keys. Very different. The feeling of the darkness surrounding me, enveloping me completely, and the fact that I couldn't see more than a hand’s length ahead of me made it creepier than anticipated.
I tried my hardest not to show Emily just how anxious I was and continued forward, making sure she was close behind. As we walked out far enough into the water, we began to swim, going as fast as we could, using the flippers to propel us forward. I could hear my own racing heartbeat as we shot through the water.
Every now and then, I surfaced to see where we were and make sure we stayed close to the shore, which made it less frightening somehow. Not that there wouldn't be bigger fish there, because there were. We saw them swim past us, but often when it was too late to get out of their way. A huge grouper swam right toward me at one point and looked like it wasn't going to divert when I shined my light on it, and then it decided to go above me instead at the last minute.
I gasped inside my mask, then turned to look at Emily, who had remained calm. She signaled thumbs up, and I responded with one as well.
Then we continued.
I was breathing heavily and, as I pushed forward, a school of mutton snappers fled from me. Further ahead, I spotted more snappers and even a lionfish. And, of course, we saw dolphins, a big pod of them. I think I scared them and wondered if they had been asleep when I came by. They took off so fast, stirring up the waters, you'd think there had been hundreds of them when there were probably just ten or so. It was hard to tell in the darkness.
I surfaced and could now spot Sakislov's huge Inca-inspired resort-style estate just around the point. I knew we had only about half an hour left, maybe less, and dove underwater again to signal Emily. When I shone my light toward her, I noticed she had frozen in place. She was pointing at something behind me. I twirled in the water as fast as I could, and now I saw what she was seeing.
A great white swimming eerily close to us.
I let out a shriek, then swam to Emily and signaled for her to stay calm. We watched the shark for a few minutes as it slowly approached us, my heart beating rapidly in my chest.
I knew that the most important thing was to maintain our composure; it was the key to staying safe. The majority of shark attacks on humans were simply a result of them mistaking you for another animal.
I knew all of this to be true, but as I watched the big animal approach us and knew it could easily gobble us up, I found it harder than anything in this world to remain calm.
I wanted to turn around and swim away, screaming.
I knew that, many times, the sharks would just swim away, uninterested in the diver, that's what I had read, but this one seemed not to have gotten the memo. The shark came up close, a little too close for comfort.
I could tell Emily was about to lose it. She was squirming and whimpering behind her gear. I stayed in front of her, in case the shark decided to attack; it could take me down instead of her. I just prayed that she wouldn't panic. I knew that erratic movements could get the shark's attention and provoke it. Frozen stiff, I forced myself to breathe slowly.
Please, just go away. Please, go away.
The shark came so close I was certain I could have reached out and touched it. I didn't do it, naturally; I didn't move an inch or even blink as it came so close, like it was curious, like a dog wanting to smell us, then suddenly decided against it and took off.
As fast as it had appeared, the shark was gone. Emily and I both breathed, relived, and, still shaking, we swam the rest of the way, constantly fearing it would be back for us, feeling like it was right behind us, just waiting for the moment to attack.
Luckily, that was all just in our imagination and, minutes later, we were able to crawl up on the seawall belonging to the Chaunceys’ million-dollar house.
Chapter 69
Bahamas, October 2018
He was holding the girl down. She was squirming underneath him, making it hard for him to keep her still. She was bleeding from the bruise on her forehead, and blood was being smeared all over his gloved hands.
"Fight all you want to, little girl," he groaned while trying to keep her head down, pressing it against the tiles. "It's no use. I will have my way sooner or later anyway."
Finally, he managed to press her head down and break her feistiness. As she groaned and moaned beneath him, trying to get loose, he leaned all his weight on top of her, pressing down till she became completely still. He had done this so many times before; he knew exactly how it would go. As time passed, she would eventually give up. It was all about breaking them. When the time came, and he was certain she had no more fight in her, he leaned forward and whispered.
"Now, say your final word for me."
He waited, but no word left her lips, only deep growling.
"Come on, girl. Tell me your final word," he said, angrily pulling her head backward so that he could look into her eyes.
"What will it be?"
The girl stared at him, her eyes wide, her face strained from being pulled backward. But still, she refused to say anything. Her nostrils were flaring, her teeth gritted, but her lips never parted, and no sound came across them.
"Tell me!"
He pulled her hair to bend her head even further backward, and the girl let out a deep groan as he pulled it hard, but there were no words.
"TELL ME!"
He was yelling angrily now, but still, the girl didn't comply. She simply refused to tell him her final word. He let go of her hair, and her head fell back down. The girl was sobbing now but didn't use any words.
Well, this has never happened before.
He had never thought about the fact that one of them might refuse to speak. They usually always did at some point. They usually ended up yelling it out in despair, probably thinking this meant he would stop torturing them, not realizing that he had only just begun.
He had to admit, he didn't know what to do.
He looked at his watch. It was getting late. He had to finish this before morning; otherwise, he'd have to wait another day, and Mama was determined to get them out of there as quickly as possible. He couldn't blame her. The police had gotten a little too close, not the Bahamian police with that idiot Maycock in charge, of course not. But that darn detective from Florida who had come looking for relatives for his daughter. What kind of bad luck was that anyway? To have him come snooping around here? Mama had yelled at him for letting the
m stay alone in the house while he went golfing, but how could he have known? He didn't exactly present himself as a detective. Besides, Mama was in the house while they were still there and could keep an eye on them and make sure they came nowhere near the basement.
It wasn't his fault the guy turned out to be a detective, was it?
Mama seemed to believe so, but then again, she believed everything was his fault.
The person stared at the needles next to the girl and the ink, then decided he didn't have to wait for the girl to say her last word. He could simply take the last one she actually had said to him earlier. Just use that one and end it all. He had lost interest in this girl anyway.
What was it she had said to him last?
Oh, yes. Please. Please was the word. It wasn't very original, but it would have to do.
The person lifted the butcher's knife and locked eyes with the girl. He grabbed her face, then reached inside her mouth with his gloved fingers. He searched around, then finally managed to grab ahold of her slippery tongue, pressing down hard so it wouldn't slip out of his fingers. Then he pulled it out between her lips, forcefully, and the girl almost threw up.
He then lifted the knife into the air and locked eyes with the girl, feeling that intoxicating adrenalin rush through his body, arousing him. As the knife swung down toward her tongue, he almost screamed out his arousal. In that same second, the alarms went off on his phone, letting him know someone had just entered his house. The person stopped the knife in mid-air as the blaring alarm destroyed everything. His arousal, the adrenaline, the kick.
The person looked at his phone where the security cameras showed him a man and a young woman walking through the sliding doors in the formal dining room. Recognizing them immediately, he sighed, then let go of the girl, who curled up on the floor, sobbing. He rose up, then turned and walked outside, the knife still clutched in his hand.
Chapter 70
Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018
"I don't think anyone is home."
Emily turned around and looked at me. We came in through the unlocked sliding doors in the formal dining room, and now we were in the massive kitchen. What was the plan? To find Coraline and liberate her. If she was still alive. And hopefully get Sydney out of here along with her. Then we'd have to deal with Mr. Chauncey afterward. Hopefully, the police would help us if we brought the girl back and she could tell where she was and who had kept her.
If she was still alive.
"Let's try upstairs," I whispered.
We found the stairs in the grand hall and walked up, then continued down a hallway decorated with stunning artwork.
We found the master bedroom and entered as soon as we realized no one was in there. Emily closed the door behind us, then looked at me.
"What are we doing here?"
I searched a few drawers, opened cabinets, and peeked inside the Roman Empire-style bathroom, then returned to her.
"Looking for clues."
"This place is massive," Emily said. "Coraline could be anywhere. Shouldn't we be looking elsewhere? Why are we in the master bedroom? What are we looking for?"
I stared at a door, then opened it, revealing an enormous walk-in closet the size of my living room. I entered, walking down the rows and rows of neatly ironed suits on one side and the completely identical white dresses on the other. At the end of it was a mahogany wall filled from top to bottom with hundreds of drawers. In the center was a safe behind a wooden door.
"Why are you so interested in a safe?" Emily asked, looking worriedly behind her. "I don't understand…wait, what was that?"
"What was what?"
"I thought I heard a sound," she said with a light gasp. "Please, Dad, hurry up whatever it is you're doing."
"It doesn’t matter. I can't open it anyway."
I sighed and closed the door.
"I can."
The sound of the voice coming from behind us made us both turn our heads. In the doorway of the walk-in closet stood Sydney. Emily smiled and sighed, relieved.
Then they hugged.
"What are you guys doing here anyway?" Sydney asked as she approached the safe and knelt in front of it. She glanced at our outfits. "Are you wearing wetsuits?"
"Can you really open it?" I asked, ignoring her first question.
She shrugged. "I know all of Mr. Chauncey's passcodes. I grew up here and have been watching him all my life. I know my way around this house better than anyone," she said, then typed in a code, and the safe immediately clicked open. "Here you go. What are you looking for?"
I looked inside the safe, then reached in and pulled something out. I held it up for the girls.
"Bingo."
Both girls looked frightened as they stared at the object in my hand.
"A gun?" Emily asked.
"I knew a man like Mr. Chauncey would have one. We'll need it," I said and got up. As I turned around, that was when I saw something else. It was hanging on a mannequin's head. I walked closer and touched the long silver wig. Emily came up behind me.
"So that's how he made it appear that Sakislov was always near the girls he abducted. A wig, huh?"
"It makes sense," I said. "Everyone knows he's a womanizer, right? In the file, he stated that he never met Annie Turner when he was questioned. We assumed the police were just stupid for believing him, but what if it was the truth? What if he never did meet her? Or any of the other girls?"
Emily glared at me quickly, then back at the wig. "It makes total sense. They hate each other. Mr. Chauncey wanted his neighbor to take the fall. But every time, he managed to avoid being a suspect, probably by paying off the police, and then Mr. Chauncey's wife had to bail her husband out by bringing in the scapegoat as soon as the police started to sniff around or pay any attention to them."
"So, she must have known what he was doing," I said. "She must have known all along."
We both looked at Sydney, who was standing right behind us, staring at us like the moon had fallen down.
"W-what are you guys talking about?"
I grabbed her by the shoulders. "We need to get you out of this place. But first, we need to find Coraline. Is there any place you don't go? Anywhere they say is restricted for you to go?"
"I can't leave the house or the property," she said and looked down. "Because I am an illegal. I was born here, but my mom is here illegally. She came here from Columbia many years ago. But if I leave the house, I'll be arrested, they say."
I stared at the girl in front of me, flabbergasted. "They're keeping you a prisoner here?"
She shrugged. "It's the same for all the workers. We live in the rooms in the back house. They lock them at night, so we don't do something stupid. The farthest I have been from this place is the clubhouse when my mom took me there when I was younger. But I am not really allowed down there. My dad was another worker here. He died when trying to run away. The White Lady shot him."
I stared at the girl while clenching my fingers around the gun. These people were seriously beginning to tick me off. It wasn't the first time I had heard about rich people getting illegal immigrants to work for them, keeping them as slaves. Not so long ago, a woman in Texas had been caught doing the same thing. The poor women she had kept at her house were malnourished and badly beaten when they were found. I knew millions of illegal immigrants ended up as slaves one way or another, whether they ended up in the sex industry or like here as slaves for those who didn't want to work themselves, those who believed they were allowed to keep people and treat them however they liked just because they had money.
"Is Mr. Chauncey the one who tells you that you can't leave?" I asked.
She shook her head. "The White Lady is."
"Of course," I said. "She runs the show around here."
I let go of the girl's shoulders, then looked at Emily, who once again had that look on her face like she was coming up with something, figuring something out.
"Panic," she said, pointing at me.
; "What do you mean, panic?"
"It was one of the words tattooed into the girl's body."
"Annie Turner, yes," I said. "What about it? You figured out what it means?"
"She's trying to tell us where she is," Emily said. "Don't you see? It's like it was with the two others. Church and Joy. Two names of something giving the killer away but could also be something else. They couldn't say it directly because the killer would know what they were up to, trying to give clues, so they tried to hide it, tried to give a vague clue. One he wouldn't figure out. This is the same."
I shook my head, suddenly feeling very old because I couldn't follow her.
"I don't see it. I really don't."
Emily clasped her hands. "I know where Coraline is," she said, then turned to face Sydney. "You know this house better than anyone. Is there a panic room or a shelter anywhere?"
Sydney nodded.
"In the basement, why?"
Chapter 71
Bahamas, October 2018
Coraline couldn't believe her luck. Finally, God was hearing her many prayers and had granted her a break. The man was gone. Something had disturbed him just as Coraline had given up, just as she had felt the fingers clench around her tongue and seen the blade of the butcher's knife swing in front of her eyes. While he was pulling her tongue forcefully and holding it there so he could better cut it, something had happened. An alarm had sounded on his phone and this—whatever it was—had made him let go of Coraline. She had sunk to the tiles, her tongue throbbing painfully from the violent treatment, but it was still intact.
She could still taste his plastic gloves, though, and it made her want to throw up.
Now, as she was lying on the floor, gathering her strength to get up, she wondered if she once again might be able to go through the ventilation duct, but then decided against it. There was no other way than the one that led to the wine cellar, and it took too long. The guy would be back and find her as easily as he did the first time. There had to be another way, a faster way for her to get out.
