Cole moved quickly to find the flexible gas line and pushed it up inside the hole as far as it would reach. The pieces were in order and only lacking one element: the gas. The gas line was at least two feet above the flare. With a quick turn of the valve Cole released the gas into the wall above. He opened the valve wide and then moved back to the far corner of the cellar.
Minutes passed with the sound of the hissing gas and sizzle of the flare, but the gas did not ignite. Then, when he thought his heart would burst in his chest with pounding, there was an explosion. Cole feared the deafening thunder of the explosion would bring the ceiling down, it didn’t, but the roaring sound of fire filled the cellar.
Now if only the house fire would bring the fire department! Cole prayed the water in the cellar would give him protection from the heat. He rested his hope on the promise of heat rising. If the walls and roof caught fire first, if the neighbors saw the smoke and called the fire department, if the floor didn’t catch fire first and fall in, he might live. It was the greatest gamble of his life, but he must try. To die trying to escape was a far better death than at the hands of Terry Kosciuszko.
TWENTY-ONE
As the fire above him raged, Cole sang at the top of his lungs “Amazing Grace,” “God Bless America,” and “My Sweet Lord” over and over with the occasional verse of The Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House,” complete with a quivery David Byrne impression.
Cole resolved days ago that he was going to die. The fear that gripped him the first days of his captivity were long gone. If it were his time, he was ready. He already had several long conversations with the Almighty about his past transgressions and asked forgiveness. He mostly asked for the safety and happiness of his family and friends. In a selfish moment he asked that when Ellie met him at the Pearly Gates she be wearing a yellow dress.
The heat that at first helped to counteract the chill of the cold water, now reached the level where Cole needed to dip below the water to seek relief. The section of ceiling where the flare and gas line were inserted burned through and Cole could see the orange flames devouring the walls above.
He sat with the water up to his neck and watched the orange flames bounce off the water and reflect onto the walls of the cellar. The ceiling directly above him, however, showed no sign of the fire yet. As he sang, Cole wondered how far the flames had reached. Having never been in a house fire or, more specifically, having never set a house on fire, he had no idea how long it would take for someone to see smoke or flames.
As water ran down his face, Cole realized that his quick dunks under were increasing from every few minutes to several times a minute. As he began to sing “This Land is Your Land,” he thought he heard a different kind of sound above him. The roaring waves of the flames were joined by an almost harmony-like drone. Cole cupped his hands around his ears and focused with all his might on the hole above where the water heater stood. He was right, the sound had changed. As he stared into the orange inferno a large chunk of flaming debris fell through the hole and was extinguished in the water. The intensity of the flames in the hole changed too, and it seemed the cellar was growing darker.
Rising again from under the water, Cole ran his fingers though his hair. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Perhaps he stared into the flames too long. He wiped the water from his eyes and stood for the first time since the fire had started. There was water falling from the hole in the ceiling!
“I’m saved! I’m saved!” Cole began to jump up and down and splash in the water. He laughed, cried and then he laughed again. The flames in the ceiling went out. A shaft of light was coming through the hole above him. As Cole moved toward it, he heard footsteps overhead.
“Help! Can you hear me? In the cellar! Help!” Cole yelled up into the hole.
A moment later, a fireman appeared in the doorway at the top of the stairs. Cole raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“What the hell were you doing down there?” A tall fireman in a dripping wet, yellow turn-out coat yelled through his air mask. “We gotta get you out of here. The whole back end of the house is about to fall down.”
“Lead the way!” Cole called back, but he was already heading for the open kitchen door.
Cole got outside and found himself face to face with a group of fireman who looked at him like he had just risen from the dead.
“Where did you come from?” a tall man with a grey mustache asked.
“The basement,” Cole said, his teeth suddenly starting to chatter.
“Get this guy a blanket!”
The grey mustached fireman introduced himself as Captain Jeff McNulty of the Volunteer Fire Company. He spoke as he watched his men still hosing down the back of the house. “What in the world were you doing in the basement?”
“What’s the date?” Cole asked, still shivering.
“April twenty-first.”
“I’ve been in there nineteen days. Kosciuszko...” Cole paused, “Kosciuszko knocked me in the head and I woke up down there.” He smiled in amazement at how the fire was only burning the back end of the house.
Captain McNulty turned at the sound of sirens. “Now here are a couple of fellas that are going to want to talk to you.”
The statement Cole made to the deputy sheriff was compelling enough to prompt the deputy to key his radio. “This is Constantine. I’m out at the Kosciuszko place. I have Cole Sage the missing newspaperman. Seems he’s been out here locked up in the basement. Has anybody seen Terry Kosciuszko around town this morning?”
There was a long pause and then the radio crackled and a voice came through strong and clear, “That old piece of junk he drives is parked in the alley behind the office supply store.”
“I think somebody needs to pick him up.” The deputy smiled and nodded at Cole.
“With pleasure,” the voice on the radio responded.
“And, if we still are sitting on that search warrant, you might want to get the judge to freshen up the date.”
“I’ll get right on it.” This time a woman’s voice responded.
“Mr. Sage, you look like you might like a bath and a change of clothes.”
Cole ran a hand over his scruffy beard. “That would be real nice. But I would sure appreciate the use of a cell phone first. I have some folks that have probably given up hope on me that I would like to surprise.”
The deputy took a cell phone from the clip on his belt and handed it to Cole. “Whaddya say we take a ride downtown?”
As the car pulled out onto the road, Cole looked back at the house. The firefighters still were spraying the blackened structure. The barren acreage looked even more desolate with the house in ruins.
“Can’t say I’m sorry to see it burn. That sick son of a bitch has been a thorn in the side of this whole community out here for years. If you don’t mind me askin’, what were you doin’ out here anyway?”
“He has been terrorizing some friends of mine. I was trying to...” Cole looked back at the house. A pillar of smoke was all that he could see. “I was trying to let him know that, law or no law, it was going to stop.”
The deputy laughed. “You’re the one that blacked his eyes and broke his nose?”
“I guess so.”
“Must have been a hell of a punch. Yes, sir, it must have been a hell of a punch.” The deputy stomped the gas pedal and hit the flashing lights.
Cole wasn’t quite sure what to say when Tom Harris answered the phone, and for a moment he considered flipping the cell phone closed. Then Harris answered, “Hello, Lt. Harris.”
“Tom, its Cole.” A lump came up in Cole’s throat. The impact of his freedom was just starting to hit him full-on.
“Cole? Where are you?” Harris sounded panicked.
“I’m in a Sheriff’s Department cruiser heading into Plainfield.”
“Are you alright? We thought...”
“I’m OK. A little pale, maybe.” Cole took a deep breath, trying to calm his emotions. �
��How is Erin?”
“You haven’t called her? She’s been pretty upset, but she’ll be a whole lot better now.” Harris almost laughed with the excitement of the realization that Cole was alive.
“Any chance you could come and get me? I don’t know where my car is.”
“Where have you been?” Harris’s question showed he was back to being a detective.
“I did something stupid. I came out here to confront Terry Kosciuszko and he clubbed me from behind. I woke up in the cellar of his house.”
“How’d you get out?”
“I burned the house down.” Cole glanced over at the deputy and he had a big smile across his face.
After finishing with Tom Harris, Cole rode in silence for a mile or two. The deputy sat next to him, humming a happy little refrain and tapping on the steering wheel. Cole was excited to let Erin know he was all right, but being free continued to sweep over him in emotional waves. One moment he felt like crying, the next like laughing out loud, and a moment later he felt like getting out and running next to the car.
His hand trembled a bit when he went to dial Erin’s number. Twice he had to start again. Their relationship had grown so much since they were introduced as father and daughter. For Cole to have lived for over twenty years with no knowledge of Erin’s existence only to meet her as a married woman with a small child still was a thrill of mixed emotions. Cole was sometimes bitter and angry that he missed her years of growing up and all the years he could have been with her mother but for his own foolish pride and stubbornness.
Then all that would wash away in the brilliance of her smile and the joy of having her in his life. Finally, he was part of a family, and he embraced the sense of belonging that she and her husband Ben gave him. sCole was thankful for every day they were allowed together. When his granddaughter Jenny was added to the mix it seemed almost too much for Cole to take in at times. Anyone who knew him would agree he lived in a sense of awe and delight that the little curly-headed girl called him Grandpa.
The phone at Erin’s began to ring and Cole held his breath unknowingly. “Hello, Mitchell rez-dense,” Jenny answered brightly.
“Jenny, its Grandpa,” Cole said softly.
The little girl didn’t answer; she just began screaming “Mommy! Mommy! It’s Grandpa!”
“Hello?” Erin sounded tentative and on the verge of tears.
“Hi sweetheart, it’s Dad.” Cole tried his best not to let his emotions show.
“Daddy, is it really you?” Erin began to cry.
Cole was unable to speak. For several long moments they both wept silently. In the year since they were introduced, Erin never called Cole ‘daddy’. It was always been ‘Dad’.
A block from the Sheriff’s Department, the deputy made a sharp turn down an alley.
“Where are we going?” Cole asked.
“Didn’t you see all the news trucks? I thought you might want to clean up before you “meet the press”.
“Yeah, I must look pretty scroungy,” Cole said as he flipped down the sun visor and looked at his disheveled hair and beard.
“You look like you’re about to run off and join Al Qaeda.”
* * *
The drive to the airport was filled with war stories and the recollections by both Cole and Tom Harris of the first time they met. Beneath the laughter, though, there was a thread of sadness. Both knew they would always stay in touch, but the closeness and camaraderie they shared over the years was to be lost.
Julie Harris gave Cole a warm embrace as boarding for his flight was called. The two old friends embraced with a bear hug and heavy pats on the back. Then Cole walked to the gate in silence. As the dark-eyed departure attendant greeted him and took his boarding pass, Cole turned and gave Tom and Julie a wave goodbye.
With no carry-on and no luggage, Cole felt strangely empty as he found his seat. As he watched the flight attendant assist his fellow passengers to their seats and help stow their backpacks and shopping bags in the overhead compartment, Cole wondered when they all got so old. He remembered always thinking how pretty the “stewardesses” were and how he shamelessly flirted with them. A smile slowly crossed his face as he realized that they all had grown old together.
“Paper, sir?”
“Sure.” Cole smiled at the middle-aged woman who still worked the aisles with coffee, tea, or juice and a tired smile.
Cole was surprised to see the banner of the Sentinel as he unfolded the paper. He was even more surprised to see his picture jump off the front page at him. The deputy in Plainfield had taken him in the back door of the Sheriff’s Department, but that wasn’t enough to keep an industrious young photographer from getting a shot of Cole entering the building.
A picture of the burned out house accompanied Cole’s mangy portrait, along with a headline that read Missing Journalist Burns Down House in Bold Escape. The story, written by one of the paper’s new hires, actually got most of the facts right:
Award-winning journalist and long-time Sentinel contributor, Cole Sage, staged a daring escape from a house where he was being held hostage. In a statement from Will County Volunteer Fire Captain Jeffery McNulty, Mr. Sage set a fire utilizing the gas line of the hot water heater and an emergency roadside flare. Sage used the cold water line to flood the cellar giving him what he hoped would be a buffer of protection from the flames. He had been locked in the cellar since April 2nd.
According to fire investigators, Sage took a dangerous gamble, and had the fire gone the other direction, the structure would have collapsed into the cellar where Sage was being held hostage.
The owner of the house, Terry Kosciuszko, 36, has been arrested and charged with kidnapping, false imprisonment, and assault. In a strange twist of events, Mr. Kosciuszko has also been charged with a variety of violations of state, federal, and international laws including manufacturing, sales, and distribution of child pornography. Investigators from both the FBI and Interpol are pouring over what they are calling “a storehouse” of materials taken from the section of the house undamaged by the fire. Authorities would not comment on the report that Kosciuszko was linked to San Francisco child murderer Phillip Ashcroft.
As the plane lifted off Cole folded the paper and laid it in his lap and closed his eyes.
TWENTY-TWO
Every Thursday since his arrival in San Francisco, Cole met with Dr. Phyllis Katzenbaum. Seeking out counseling was not Cole’s idea. Chuck Waddell insisted that Cole “at least talk to somebody” before he took on a full load at the paper. The first appointment was not productive in the eyes of patient or doctor. It was agreed that Cole needed another session. A little more time together would help them get closer and perhaps find a path to his recovery. Having a son-in-law that was a doctor closed the deal. Ben encouraged Cole to “lighten up and let the doctor do the heavy lifting”.
In the second session, Cole admitted to having nightmares. His suppressed memories of his captivity in Cambodia that resurfaced in the cellar were addressed for the first time. He also confessed to finding it difficult to sleep unless the room was completely black. Dr. Katzenbaum convinced Cole it was a natural reaction to confinement.
She gave him several books and articles to read on people who were held under far worse conditions and the effect it had on them and their recovery. The readings gave Cole a sense of gratitude that his experience, though traumatic, was nothing in comparison to the people held in small confined areas in the dark for year after year. Add to their horror stories, torture and sexual assault, and Cole’s three-plus weeks in the cellar were like a vacation.
Even though Chuck Waddell put Cole on short hours for the first couple of weeks, he spent a lot of time at home, drafting what would become a multi-part series on child abductions, murder, and the use of children in the sex trade. As a way of breaking from the oppressive nature of his research, Cole began to take long walks around the Marina District.
Living in a house was a new experience for Cole. He was an apartment d
weller for so many years that not hearing doors slam and “things go bump” in the night took a bit of getting used to. Having the key to his own front door brought a sense of empowerment to Cole that he really enjoyed. He would never again have to wait for other people to collapse their umbrellas before he could get into the building. There was only one mailbox on the porch, instead of twenty on the wall in the lobby. Best of all, he could play his stereo or watch a movie with the surround sound on as loud as he wanted, day or night, breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
The San Francisco weather and the beauty of his neighborhood inspired Cole in another way too. He bought a bicycle. He felt silly and conspicuous at first, but soon realized he was only one of dozens of people he saw every time he went out for a ride, and no one paid any attention to him.
The weight he lost in the cellar inspired him to try and keep it off, and the bike rides seemed to be helping. Maybe it was just the spring weather, the new job, the new city, or maybe a combination of the three, but Cole felt like he had a been given a new lease on life, and he was making the most of it.
Being close to Erin and her family was working another kind of magic in Cole’s life. At first, he was afraid he would be a nuisance, so he tried not to call as often as he wanted. To his delight, Erin called him several times a week and invited him to lunch. A couple of times, she dropped over to bring him a casserole or pan of her enchiladas that he loved so much. Then there was Jenny. Her third birthday was in ten days. She had become Cole’s world.
Cellar Full of Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery #2 Page 18
