Blind River: A Thriller

by Ben Follows

  Kendra nodded and finished her drink. She vaguely remembered Nate being married to that Mackley detective woman, and that the separation hadn't been civil. She even heard that Detective Mackley had fired a gun at him, but hadn’t gotten any confirmation on that rumor. “Thanks.”

  She wobbled back and forth and had to steady herself against the bar.

  Nate put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Come on, let’s get you home. You’re drunk.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No," he said sternly, "let’s go.”

  Kendra looked at the empty cup in her hand and nodded.

  Nate took Kendra under his arms and nodded to Sally, who seemed thankful she didn’t have to do it.

  They walked through the bar, weaving around a few teenage girls with plaid shirts tied in the front to reveal their cleavage. Nate’s eyes strayed just a bit and Kendra laughed, forcing him to return his focus to her.

  He smiled at her, and Kendra wondered why he'd never made a move on her. They'd known each other for almost fifteen years, yet he'd never made a move on her. For a time, she'd wondered if he was gay, but his brief marriage to Detective Mackley and his wandering eyes had killed that idea.

  They stepped outside. The feeling of a storm was thick in the air, and the sky was dark, the stars and the moon invisible behind the clouds.

  “My car’s over there,” said Kendra, taking a lunging step.

  “No,” said Nate. “You’re drunk. I’ll drive you home. Pick up the car tomorrow. It's this way.”

  They walked across the parking lot, away from the area illuminated by streetlights and the fluorescent sign above the bar. The music faded as they walked toward the edge of the parking lot.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice in the darkness. “Can you give me some help?”

  “Who’s there?” said Nate, taking a cautious step toward the figure in the darkness. Nate took a few tentative steps, leaving Kendra to lean against an adjacent car.

  “I need some help with my car.” said the figure. “Damn thing won’t start.”

  Kendra closed one eye, trying to focus on the figure, then opened them wide when she recognized the man. “Oh hey," she said, "how are you?”

  Upon hearing her calm question, Nate turned back to the man and recognized him as well. He smiled. “What seems to be the issue?”

  “I don’t know,” said the man. “There’s a weird smell coming from the engine. You think you could check it out?”

  “Sure,” said Nate, rolling up his sleeves and walking over. “Where was the smell coming from?”

  “Right there,” said the man, pointing deep into the engine.

  Kendra leaned against the car, watching them. She was the first to see the gun the man took from his right pocket. He looked back at Kendra and held a finger to his lips.

  Kendra frowned, her drunk mind so far behind that she couldn’t react.

  “Back here, you mean?” said Nate, leaning deep into the engine. “I can’t see anything.”

  “It’s around there somewhere.” The figure took a suppressor out of his pocket and attached it to the end of the gun. Kendra stared at him through her haze. The loud music from the bar blocked out any other sound.

  The man put the gun to the back of Nate’s head and fired once. The blood from his forehead covered the front of the engine. A little bit sprayed through the gap at the bottom of the hood and onto the front windshield. Nate spasmed for just a moment and made a low moaning sound before becoming still on top of the engine. The figure then lifted the gun and aimed it at Kendra.

  “If you make a sound,” he said, “and you’re next.”

  Kendra nodded and pushed herself against the car.

  The man grabbed the back of Nate’s shirt and yanked him off the engine and onto the ground. A spurt of blood came from his forehead as his dead body fell.

  The man kept his gun trained on Kendra as he grabbed Nate’s lifeless hand and effortlessly dragged him across the pavement to the trunk of the car.

  He opened the trunk and lifted Nate's body inside. By the time Kendra thought to run, the trunk was closed and the gun was back pointing at her.

  “Maybe don’t drink so much next time,” said the man as he walked around to the front of the car. He glanced over his shoulder when the front door of the bar opened. A man and a woman walked out, laughing at one another and the girl leaning her head on the man's shoulder. They never looked toward the location of the shooting, nor did they turn in their direction. In less than a minute, they were gone, and Kendra was back alone with the man. She could have screamed, but the gun in her face made her mute with fear.

  The figure walked to the front of the car and closed the hatch, concealing all except for the blood which had sprayed onto the front windshield. He took a cloth out of his pocket, spat on it, and used it to wipe it off. What remained when he was finished could easily be confused with dirt.

  “Come with me,” he said, walking over to Kendra and putting the gun in her ribs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Kendra raised her hands as they walked, leaving the car where Nate’s body was stored behind them. It only occurred to her now that the car had been a plant, an intentional diversion.

  “You killed Harriet,” she said as the truth dawned on her. “You killed my sister and threw her in that river.”

  The man laughed softly. “She begged for her life, you know? She put up a fight. Who would have guessed I would get to kill both the Matheson sisters?”

  Kendra said nothing. She willed her body to fight back, to turn and attack the man who had killed her sister and was going to kill her. She could run. She could get away and tell everyone who the killer was.

  Despite her begging thoughts, her body refused to listen, and they got to the car where she was being led without any struggle. The figure opened the trunk and grabbed a roll of duct tape. He held it out to her. “Tape your mouth shut.”

  Kendra took the tape and obeyed, the barrel of the gun holding her in a trance she couldn’t break. She was instructed to tape her feet together, and did so. She handed back the tape and held out her hands, per his instructions, and had her wrists bound together. At that moment, she realized she was beyond help.

  She tried to wail, but her cries were muffled by the tape covering her mouth. The man opened the trunk and gestured for her to get in, the gun still pointed at her chest. Kendra turned her head back toward the bar, which was too far away for even an unmuffled scream. The music had become dimmed, and she could only barely see the lights from the bar.

  “I don’t have all night,” said the man. “I can kill you like I did Nate and get someone else. There are other people I can grab. Get in the trunk.”

  Kendra was certain she was going to die, but even in that moment of abject terror, of absolute certainty that this was the end of her life, she couldn’t gather the courage to run. She cursed her own cowardice, her own weakness, her own inability to fix her own problems.

  With tears running down her face, she fell into the trunk. Her kidnapper threw her legs in after her. The trunk slammed closed over her, sentencing her to darkness.

  She tried to wail again, but heard nothing but the driver's door opening and closing and the engine starting.

  41

  Harry Ochre rubbed his eyes. He’d been at the prison for nine hours and was exhausted. He couldn’t wait to get home. Martha, his wife, was making a roast, her specialty. He'd been thinking about it all day.

  “Ochre!”

  Harry looked up and saw another guard approaching him. “What?”

  “Warden wants to see you," said the guard.

  The guard turned and walked away. Harry let out a sigh. He hoped he hadn’t drawn the short straw.

  Nate hadn’t shown up to work yet, and he had been aware of the possibility he would have to take Nate’s shift. A common issue of prisons was a lack of guards due to the difficulty of the job. It was impossible to tell if someone would be able to do it until they were in th
e thick of it. If they quit, the entire training process would have to restart.

  Harry walked through the prison, ignoring the jeers from the prisoners. After a certain point, it became the quiet criminals which unnerved him. That was the feeling he had whenever he passed Sam Marino’s cell. The former crime boss looked up from his novel for just a moment, looked Harry in the eyes, then returned to his book with a smirk, as though he knew something Harry didn’t.

  Harry left the cell block and took the elevator up to the warden's office. When he entered, Warden Thompson stood from his desk and walked around to shake Harry’s hand. The warden treated every person coming into his office as if he was a visiting dignitary, something that had always bothered Harry. They took their seats and the warden became all business.

  “You know I hate to do this,” said Thompson, taking his seat, “but you need to stay late. Nate Williams hasn’t shown up, and we can’t reach him. You’ll just need to be here until he shows up.”

  Harry sighed. “I didn’t realize it was my turn.”

  Thompson held up his palms and shrugged.

  “I have a home-cooked meal waiting at home," said Harry. "My wife's been working on it all day.”

  “I wish there was something I could do, but there isn’t," said Thompson. "When Williams shows up, you can leave right away.”

  Thompson stood and walked past Harry, grabbing his coat. “I’ll be at home. Let me know if there’s any reason for me to come in.”

  Harry sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  He stood and followed Thompson out of the office. They rode the elevator down together in silence. They exited at different floors, and the last Harry saw of Thompson was an apologetic expression through the closing doors of the elevator.

  Harry sighed and walked to the break room, stopping only to let another guard know he was taking a break and he’d be back to take Nate’s shift.

  Harry was getting concerned about Nate. He wasn’t someone who missed a shift without a reason under any circumstances. With everything going on in Blind River, Harry felt uneasy. The visits from the FBI agents had been some of the most nerve-wracking moments he'd had on this job, and that was even without Nate’s ex-wife being involved. Harry didn’t know what had caused the split, but he would have bet a lot of money it wasn’t amicable.

  He grabbed a bottle of water from the break room and took out his cellphone. He dialed his wife and sighed as it rang.

  “Hello?” said Martha, the sounds of bubbling water and a television playing in the background.

  “Hey, it's me.”

  “Why are you calling? You should be almost home.”

  “Nate never showed for his shift.”

  There was a long silence, then Martha said, “You’re going to miss dinner, aren’t you?”

  “Looks like it," said Harry, "unless Nate shows in the next few hours.”

  Martha sighed. “I’ll leave your food in the fridge. Microwave it when you get in."

  “Thanks. Martha?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry," said Harry. "I know you worked hard on this.”

  “I understand.”

  The call ended. Harry cursed silently to himself and slid his phone into his pocket. He checked himself in the bathroom mirror before heading out for a circuit of the cell block.

  The good thing about a night shift was that there was little to do. They made sure everyone was in their cells, then shut off the lights. After that they did a circuit every hour or so, but nothing ever happened. The night shift was mostly spent in the break room with the other guards.

  Harry joined the others and they did a circuit, ensuring everyone was in their cells. Harry avoided Sam Marino’s gaze as he passed the cell, knowing he would see nothing but an eerie calmness in Marino’s eyes, something he didn’t want on his mind that night.

  They finished their rounds and shut off the lights. The prison went dark except for the lights which illuminated the walkways so the guards could see where they were going.

  Harry walked into the break room and took a deep breath. No matter how long he worked at the prison, there was always a feeling of relief when he walked through that door.

  He and the other guards spent the next hour relaxing and playing cards, making jokes about what had happened to Nate. The prevailing theory was that his penchant for risqué women had finally caught up to him and he was tied to a bed somewhere, a gag in his mouth. Monica Mackley had been a break from that rule. That was the reasons Harry hadn't been surprised when it fell apart.

  When Nate was back at work, they would give him hell for his mistake. No one mentioned the possibility that Nate wouldn't be working again.

  At ten, they stood and exited the room to do another round.

  Harry sighed, his eyes drooping and his focus waning. He’d been working for twelve hours, eight more than any of the others.

  They walked through the prison, checking that everyone was asleep in their cells. It was odd, thought Harry as he walked, the way prisoners lose their liberties. They were told when to go to the bathroom, sleep, work and relax. They didn’t have the freedoms most people took for granted. One bad decision could take it all away.

  It wasn’t until he was almost done with his circuit that Harry got the creeping sensation something wasn’t quite right. He felt a cold sweat run down his neck.

  He glanced back toward Sam Marino’s cell, fifty feet behind him, and saw that the cell door was closed. He had avoided looking inside the cell when he passed. He took a deep breath and turned forward. The break room was less than twenty feet away. There was nothing to be concerned about. His fatigue was just playing tricks on him.

  He gasped as the sharpened toothbrush came down on his back into his back, sliding between his ribs and into his right lung. He grabbed at his chest as he fell to the floor, the toothbrush sticking out of his back.

  He tried to cry out as he felt his lungs fill with blood, but no sounds came from his mouth. He looked around and saw none of the other guards.

  He felt a shadow leaning over him. A knee pushed into his back, accelerating the rate at which he was internally bleeding.

  “Guess you’re a little tired,” said Sam Marino above him, in that same whisper Harry found so disconcerting. “Guess this shift was a little too long for you. You never locked my cell. The entire prison system is a mess, isn’t it? You’re so understaffed that they hire retards like you, and they can’t even afford some automatic locking mechanisms. Pathetic. What is this? The eighties?”

  Marino laughed softly.

  Harry tried to respond, but once again nothing came from his mouth except a spray of blood. He managed to look to his right, toward the cells. The other prisoners had awoken and were watching the events unfold. Not one cried out for help, not one did anything, not one met Harry's pleading eyes.

  This was Marino’s prison.

  Harry flailed for the taser at his waist, the excuse they were given instead of a gun. Marino’s foot came down on his wrist hard.

  “I’ll be taking these,” said Marino, grabbing both the taser and the keys from Harry’s belt. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

  The pressure disappeared from Harry’s back. The patter of footsteps receded away, toward the exit. He tried to cry out again, but only a strained gurgling came from his mouth.

  A guard rounded the corner in front of him, walking and whistling, spinning his keys around his finger. The moment he caught sight of Harry lying face first in a puddle of his own blood, he grabbed his radio and sprinted towards Harry.

  “Man down,” he shouted into his radio. “Prisoner escaping. Marino is out of his cell. Get medical attention. Over.”

  Harry listened to the replies through the radio on his shoulder, but the words seemed to get further and further away.

  The other guards responded as quickly as they could. The sentries on the walls confirmed they'd prevent Marino from getting past the walls. Another said he would get a medical team. Harry didn’t think
either would succeed. He was sure Marino was going to escape and he was going to die.

  Marino wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t think he could get away with it.

  The guard put a hand on Harry’s back, reaching for the toothbrush protruding from his back, then decided to leave it in. He patted Harry gently on the back.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice a trained calm. “The doctors will get here and everything will be fine. You will be fine.”

  Harry didn’t believe him. “Tell my wife I love her."

  “Tell her yourself," said the guard. "You have plenty of time. Save your energy.”

  Harry smiled as his head slumped against the ground. He wouldn't make it home in time for dinner.

  42

  Curtis leaned over the balcony railing and watched the sunrise. Frankie was inside the motel room, talking on the phone with someone. It was probably Director Johnson.

  Curtis had no illusions about Johnson’s worries, and he knew Frankie was giving the director updates. He understood. He would have done the same.

  Hopefully Natasha and Bobby would be ready to talk. If they were lucky, they would be able to get signed confessions before lunch and be back in Manhattan by dinner. Curtis could take a few days off and spend time with Melanie.

  The door behind him opened and Frankie stepped out, looking worried. Curtis knew without asking they wouldn't be getting home.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Marino escaped from prison and killed a guard," said Frankie blankly.

  Curtis turned back from her, the words rattling around the inside of his head. He gripped the banister harder. “Which guard?” he asked.

  “Harry Ochre. Sharpened toothbrush through the back, punctured his lung. He died of internal bleeding.”

  Curtis took a deep breath. “Where’s Marino?”

  “He got away. He’s probably trying to put as much distance between us as possible.”

  Curtis felt an anger rising within him. “What did Johnson say?”