Girl Gone Missing

by Marcie Rendon

  None of the clothes looked winter-ready. The four-inch heels were certainly not made to run in. Cash had no idea how many men were in the house. She had seen three, but the girls said there were five. Think, Cash, think.

  She got up and walked softly to the window that faced the house next door. That house seemed to be exactly like the one she was in. If it was, there was another window right below the one she was looking out of. The window in front of her had a thick wood frame, with a top and bottom ledge that was a good four inches wide.

  Cash was getting out of here. Period. No question about it. One way or the other, she was getting out of here.

  She pondered for a moment why the other girls stayed. Glass was breakable. Why had they not made a run for it? Then her mind shut down. Years of dead ends and no escapes had taught her not to ponder situations too much. The words from a poem she learned in freshman English ran through her head, “Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die.”

  Damn, she was not going to die today.

  She sat back down on the bed, cringing when the bed springs creaked. No one came storming up the stairs. The acrid smell had drifted on, but the smell of marijuana was getting thicker. Cash grabbed a slippery scarf off the vanity and wrapped it around her mouth and nose. She wanted a clear head to deal with this situation. After a few minutes of thought, she got up and dug through the vanity drawers. No scissors. No knives. No other weapons.

  Ha, a fingernail clipper. And the metal file was intact!

  Cash pulled a top sheet off one of the beds. While well worn, it was strong cotton. She measured a hand width across the bottom of the sheet and clipped the material. Rrrrippp. Bottom to top. She measured and clipped, ripped again. She shoved the strips under the chenille spread on the other bed.

  When she finished with one sheet, she tiptoed to the door and listened. The crying had stopped. Just the low murmur of men’s voices.

  She went back to the bed and began tying the sheet strips together. She kept the strips under the spread, hidden, in case the other women returned, pulling out just the ends she was tying together. She used a bowknot she had learned from some farmer who had hired her to help him build a tree house for his kids a few years back.

  When all the strips were tied together, she stepped into the closet and went way to the back, hiding the rope under the clothes scattered there. She measured the sheet rope along her body by stepping on one end and raising it the length of her body. She estimated two rope lengths were about ten feet. Altogether, she figured she had about thirty feet of rope.

  She knelt in the closet and added another knot every four feet to give the girls a better handhold for the climb down. Even then, she figured it was still long enough to reach from the upstairs window where she was to about the middle of the window downstairs. If need be, it would be a short drop. Harmless. When she was finished, she walked out of the closet, the rope a big bundle in her arms. She stuffed it under the mattress at the head of the bed that was closest to the side window.

  She dug around on the bed until she found the pack of Marlboros that must have fallen out when the ape had attacked her. She shivered, a quick body spasm that came up from the base of her spine and down her arms. As fast as the shiver happened, she clipped him—and what he intended to do—out of her mind.

  She lit the cigarette and sat down on the edge of the bed. She had no idea what time it was. Her internal clock seemed to have gotten messed up by whatever drug LeRoy had given her. Damned if she would ever get in someone else’s car again. Or take a drink that she hadn’t poured herself. She felt rage build and settle in the pit of her stomach.

  She flicked the ashes from her cigarette directly onto the floor. She smashed the butt out with her foot and immediately lit another cigarette. She walked again to the side window where she could see the house next door. It had a front porch that covered the whole front of the building. The porch was built up a good three to four feet off the ground with wooden steps leading up to it.

  Cash remembered the dream she’d had, a dream with a house like the one next door with the number 175 on it. If the house she was currently in was 175, then the lattice around the base of this porch had a tear in it, like in her dream. That porch on the house next door was large enough to hide five skinny girls under it. So this one should be able to also.

  She got out the metal file from the fingernail clippers and began to scrape at the window caulking from around the glass in the window. She left just enough caulking so the glass didn’t fall out. She swept the caulk from off the window sill and put it under the pillow on the bed.

  She heard the clomp of footsteps coming up the stairs and moved away from the window to the vanity bench. The door opened, and the five other girls came tumbling in. Way more disheveled than they’d left. Hair a mess, makeup smeared. The Tweed girl, with the help of another girl, half-carried a girl. Her eye makeup ran down and mixed with the splotches of lipstick on her face. Her eyes were dull and her skin was ashen. When the two girls laid her on the bed, her skirt rode up and Cash saw blistered skin—a crude brand. That had been the acrid smell. Burnt flesh. An ugly wing and star brand. Cash averted her eyes from the men at the door. Her hatred would blaze, and she had no wish to further antagonize them. She was leaving. And so were these girls. One way or the other.

  Without looking, Cash knew there were three men in the doorway. They smelled of oily hair and marijuana. Cash looked at them sideways from under her lashes. They were stoned. Moronic grins on their faces as they slid Folgers cans in across the floor. They backed out, pulled the door shut after themselves and locked the women in.

  Without a word, Cash handed cigarettes to all the women. Held the match while they inhaled to light them. She brushed the hair off the forehead of the girl on the bed. “What’s your name?”

  One of the other girls answered, “Carla.”

  “Well, Carla, I’m getting you out of here. Tonight. Hear me? I’m taking you home, alright?”

  The other girls started murmuring no’s and huddling like scared chickens. Cash glared at them, the rage in her eyes not leaving room for questions or resistance. “We are leaving. Tonight.”

  She looked at the Tweed girl and said, “And you’re helping me.” Janet nodded yes.

  “Finish your cigarettes and then we’re going. We gotta move fast and gotta work together. Got it?” Janet and Carla nodded yes. The other three looked scared out of their minds.

  “You don’t want to stay, do you?” They all shook their heads no.

  “Then you’re gonna do what I say and we’re gonna work together. Janet, get Carla over by the side window. The rest of you, get those clothes out of the closet and spread them across the floor in front of the door. No noise.” Janet picked Carla up and moved her quietly. The other women, shoes off, began piling clothes in front of the bedroom door. Cash separated them into piles of four. She whispered, “One girl on each side of this bed. We’re going to pick it up and set it on these piles of clothes in front of the door. Quietly.”

  The girls worked as a team. Lifting. Setting. Piling up more clothes. Silently. Then moving the other bed, sideways, ever so quietly between the first bed and the wall. There was no way that door was going to open. The only sound heard in the room was the occasional squeak of the bedsprings as the girls moved from one side of the bed to the other until they were all standing on a patch of dust-covered floor where the second bed had been. They looked at Cash with fearful determination, ready for the next order.

  Cash looked at the lot of them. Half-dressed, skinnier than normal, terrified. All blonde, all blue-eyed. They could have been a cheerleading squad. With a little more muscle. A little more wool instead of sequins and nylon.

  Cash pointed to the girl who had helped Janet carry Carla into the room. Speaking softly, so the girls all had to lean in to hear, “You are going to go first.” She pulled the makeshift rope out from under the mattress and tied it around the leg of the bed closest to the side window, y
anking the bow knot to make sure it was secure. She removed the remaining caulk from around the window and slid the glass out, grabbing it quickly so it wouldn’t fall. She lifted it up, pulled it out, leaned it against the bedroom wall. The cold night breeze drifted in. She used the metal nail file to cut the screen wide open.

  There was nothing between them and freedom except fear and a thirty-foot drop. “This rope should be long enough to get you down so that if you do have to drop you’re not going to break anything. The side of the house is brick, so you might be able to use the dents in the bricks as toeholds if you need to. Just get down as fast as you can and run to the side of the porch where the wood lattice is already partly ripped off. Crawl under the porch and be ready to help Carla get in there. Carla, you are going next.”

  The girl, still lying on the floor looked at her wide-eyed. Cash asked, “You want out?”

  The girl nodded yes.

  “Then you’re going to climb out this window and run. Then crawl under the porch where she’ll be waiting for you. Got it?” The girl nodded. “Then one after the other we go. You get under that porch and you stay there, understand? I don’t care how many men come out of this house screaming for you. Once you’re under the porch they’re not going to look for you there. They’re going to assume you took off running. Understand? So stay there. Quiet. I’ll come last. I’m not coming under the porch. I have a truck over by the Cathedral. I’m going to run get that and pull up front. I’ll honk once, then you all haul ass and jump into the back of the truck.” They looked at each other, scared, hopeful, determined.

  “Come to think of it, I’ll honk as soon as I am on this block. You guys come running. Okay? Help Carla.”

  They all nodded. Cash lowered the string of sheets out the window. She looked out and judged that each girl might have a short drop once they hit the end of the rope but not enough to kill them.

  Cash had never been a cheerleader, but she knew the pep routine. She knelt down and put her arm out. Carla was the first to put her hand on top of Cash’s. The other girls knelt down and did the same. Cash mouthed the words, “Rah rah boom!” while pumping their hands up and down. Then she pointed at the first girl and mouthed, “Go!”

  The girl backed out the window, feet first, hands gripping the rope so tightly her knuckles turned white. Cash whispered, “Find a toehold in the bricks and go! Quietly.” The girl nodded and disappeared. Cash leaned out the window. When she was about halfway down, Cash pulled back in and said, “Your turn, Carla.”

  Carla stood, shaking. Cash could see the remnants of cheerleader muscles in the girl’s thighs. “Wait ’til I give you the go. We have to make sure she’s hit the ground.”

  The girl took a deep breath, closed her eyes and exhaled. When Cash said softly, “Go,” she opened her eyes and crawled out the window. She winced once as she pulled the branded leg off the windowsill and then she was gone. Cash pointed at the other three. Silently numbering, one, two, three. The Tweed girl last. She was the biggest of the girls, the tallest, and she probably still weighed the most even after all she had been through.

  One by one, each girl dropped into the night. As the Tweed girl descended, Cash ran to the vanity and grabbed everything she could fit in her arms. She began to throw hairspray cans, bottles, jars, and hairbrushes at the bedroom door, making as much noise as she could as she made her way back to the window. She took hold of the rope, lowered herself out of the window and down the side of the house, the palms of her hands burning because she opted to slide down the makeshift rope rather than go down hand over hand. As she dropped to the ground, she slapped her hands against her jeans to dull the sting and took off running. From above, she heard men hollering and pounding the bedroom door.

  Cash hadn’t even thought about being barefoot until the cold of the sidewalk numbed her feet. But by that time her head was a long way from her toes and she ignored them and kept running. As she turned the corner onto Selby Avenue, which she remembered was the street the Cathedral was on, she glanced up and read Western Avenue. 175 Western Avenue.

  She was out of breath and had a side ache by the time she got to the Ranchero. Ignoring it, she dug into her jeans pocket and found the truck key. She had the truck unlocked, door open, her butt on the seat, engine running and gears shifted before you could say Jack Sprat could eat no fat. She barreled down Selby Avenue.

  She screamed a long list of swear words at Professor LeRoy, at her own stupidity and the world in general. She banged the dashboard until her fist hurt. Damn! Damn! Damn!

  She turned onto Western.

  Just as she careened down the street toward 175 Western, she saw three men pushing themselves out the front door, looking wildly to the left and right. Hollering, shoving and pushing each other, not one of them directing the search. Cash whipped around the corner.

  Damn, now what was the plan? She had thought those wackos would spend more time trying to get into the bedroom. Damn. She slowed the Ranchero and lit a cigarette, turned off the headlights and crept around the block.

  When she came around again, she saw someone staggering down the street, singing off-key at the top of his lungs, “I’m going home, my tour is done. I’m going home, I’m a lucky one…”

  “Son-of-a-bitch…how the hell did he get here?”

  Cash pulled to the curb. Her brother stumbled towards the three men coming down the porch. He hollered out at them, “At ease soldiers, atten-hut!” and gave them a sloppy salute. He stood on the end of the sidewalk, swaying, looking at them. They stared back at him.

  “Did you see some chicks running that way?” one of them finally asked.

  Mo looked back from the way he had come. “Nah, man, I woulda noticed some chicks. I’m a little drunk, but I ain’t that messed up. I woulda noticed some chicks. You all missing some chicks? I wouldn’t lose my chicks if I had some chicks.”

  He started swaying more heavily. Fumbled around for the pocket on his fatigue jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. After a few misses, he lit the dangling cigarette with his Zippo. “You all wouldn’t happen to have some smack, would you? No? What about some grass? Or juice? Sure could use some juice. Got some juice you’d share with a brother?”

  “Move it along, Chief,” one of the men finally snarled, stepping down onto the first step of the porch.

  “Get down the street and see if you can see the chicks,” he snapped at the man right behind him. “They can’t have gone too damn far.”

  The other guy stepped in front of him and headed across the grass. When he got within four or five feet of Mo, Mo slithered forward, smooth, like a snake striking. Even though he was much shorter than the other man, Mo chopped the guy in the throat with such force he sank to the ground.

  Without breaking the fluidity of his movement, Mo whipped his punji stick out from the back waistband of his pants and struck the first guy square in the forehead using the stick like a short bat. The guy toppled over. The third guy was already running back into the house. Mo followed.

  Cash honked the horn one short blast, turned the truck lights on and rolled towards the porch. Leaning out the truck window, she yelled, “Come on. Come on.”

  The Tweed girl was the first to crawl out. She turned and yanked Carla out from under the porch, pulled her to standing and pushed her in the direction of the truck. Carla crawled into the Ranchero’s front seat, while the other three girls jumped into the truck bed. Just as the Tweed girl hoisted herself up and over the tailgate, Mo came running out of the house hollering, “Di di mau, di di mau!”

  He threw himself into the truck bed as Cash shifted gears and tore off down the street. In her rearview mirror, she saw a man come running out of the house waving a handgun, looking stupidly in either direction, not sure which way to give chase. His buddies on the ground were just starting to come around. Cash turned right on Selby Avenue and lost sight of them.

  A few blocks later, Mo leaned into the driver’s window by stretching around from the back o
f the cab—scaring the crap out of Cash—and hollered in her left ear, “We gotta turn around, my car’s back by that big ol’ church you were praying at.”

  The last thing Cash wanted to do was go back where men with guns were looking for them. She thought about the .22 behind the driver’s seat, but she wasn’t ready for a shootout either. All she wanted was to get out of Dodge. Instead, she turned left and another left on a street named Laurel and headed back in the direction they had just come from.

  A tap on her left shoulder caused her to jump and hit the gas. Mo told her to turn left again. The cathedral was right in front of them. She slowed down. Mo jumped out and ran up the street. He motioned for her to hold it.

  In her rearview, she saw heads peek up from the truck bed. Carla rolled down her window and told them to stay down, everything was okay. Cash reached behind the front seat and pulled out her extra clothes and wool blanket. She passed them to Carla who passed the meager coverings to the girls in back. She reached down to the floorboard on the passenger side, felt around for her cowboy boots and pulled them on to her freezing feet.

  It seemed like ages, but soon Mo’s gray Grand Am was idling across the intersection ahead of them. He led them down a slight hill, out of downtown, and didn’t stop until they had left the Cities far behind. Light from the still-hidden sun brightened the horizon behind them. Finally he pulled off into a farmer’s plowed cornfield.

  He walked back to Cash’s Ranchero, grinning from ear to ear. “Not bad for a rookie,” he threw at her.

  Cash jumped out of the cab. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  “Powers of deduction and incredible tracking skills,” Mo said, tapping his right temple.

  They walked over to his car and leaned against the trunk, looking back at the Ranchero, the girls watching them.