“We’ll do this together. I’m not waking them.”
“So much for rules.”
“Do you want to use the bathroom or not?”
I looked down the length of the dark basement and in my mind’s eye, I could see what I’d seen when all of the lights were turned on. The stainless steel table was to the right of the room. It was in front of the slop sink, which was just below the dimly lit window. Though I couldn’t see, somehow I had to get to that table and grab a hammer.
Because the basement was so wide, the natural inclination would be for me to walk straight ahead, presumably down the center of the room. But that wouldn’t work for my needs. When he nudged me toward the bathroom, I needed to stay as far to my right as possible because that’s where the table and the hammer were.
Not that I could see them now. The darkness was disorienting.
“I need to go,” I said.
“Then move forward.”
An idea came to me and, with a rush of excitement that I stilled, I knew it might work. I buckled my knees a bit. “I’m not sure that’s an option.” I unfastened the top button on my pants. “I’m afraid I can’t wait.”
He shoved me forward, past the staircase and into the dark blackness that only the light coming from the window interrupted. “If you shit in this basement, I will kill you. Do you understand me? I will kill you.”
“Is that what they would want? Without witnessing it? Without getting off on it?”
He shoved the gun against the back of my head. “Can you see the bathroom?”
“I can’t.”
“It’s just ahead of you. Keep moving.”
I took several steps forward, and then stopped. The light was a bit brighter here. Ahead of me, just beyond the stairs, on the stainless steel table I could see the faint outline of the hammer I’d seen earlier. I needed to grab it. I needed to use it on him. If I was successful, I might be able to get out of this. If I wasn’t, then he’d likely shoot me in an effort to protect himself.
He pushed me forward. “Move.”
“I can’t see. It’s too dark. Please, just let me go here.”
“The bathroom’s in front of you. About fifteen feet. Walk forward to the door. Do you see it? It’s right there. There’s a light inside. Move.”
I stepped forward, keeping my eyes on the hammer. It was five feet away from me. It was there and it was real. There were other tools on that table, including the surgical saw, but my focus was the hammer. It was bigger. It would do more damage. I needed to move to the right. I’d never get the hammer otherwise.
“Move!”
I faked a cramp and took a sidestep forward. “I can’t hold it in. I can barely walk. Why didn’t you just let me go earlier?”
“Get to the fucking bathroom.”
I faked another cramp, staggered forward into the darkness and then tripped to the right. When I went down, I made a startled sound as I struck the table and grabbed the hammer. Then, as I hit the dirt hard, I slipped it between my breasts.
There was such a bang when I slammed into the table that I thought for sure it would wake the men sleeping above us.
And so I waited for the worst.
I was lying on my stomach. The hammer was just beneath me. Did he see me take it? Did he hear me take it? My heart pounded against my chest with a ferocity that didn’t seem human to me. I could hear him coming behind me. I sensed him stopping. Then he whacked his foot against the bottom of my shoe.
“That was slick,” he said.
I closed my eyes. He did see me take it. My hand tightened around the hammer. I wasn’t sure what to do.
He’s going to shoot me….
“Get up now. Real slow.”
Why had I been so stupid? This was it for me. Why had I taken such a risk?
What choice did you have?
This time he kicked my leg. “Unless you’ve shit your pants, get up and go use the bathroom.”
Unbelieving, my eyes snapped open. He hadn’t seen me take the hammer. With a sense of relief, I gripped it with everything I had in my right hand and steeled myself for what was coming next. “I can’t see,” I said. “It’s too dark. I think I can make it, but I need help getting up.”
“So, now you’re a cripple? Give me a break. Get the fuck up.”
“I can’t. The cramping hurts. I don’t want to soil my pants. Please. I promise I’ll go in there and get this over with. I’ll be quick. I won’t waste your time. I’ll—”
“Christ.”
I felt his free hand on my shoulder. I could smell tobacco in the air where there had been no hint of tobacco before. His head was right there. His breath was on my neck. I listened for the sound of footsteps above me, but there was no time to hear them. He started to turn me over and when he did, I acted.
In one fluid motion, I swung the hammer in a violent arc, praying that I would hit him. Surprisingly, the hammer stopped short with a sickening crack followed by a sudden expulsion of air. I’d hit him. I must have—the hammer was stuck. I forced it out of wherever it had landed and heard him stumble above me. Where had I hit him—his head? His chest? I didn’t know because I couldn’t see.
But I could hear.
When his gun went off, the basement bloomed with light, framing for a moment his broken head and revealing how deeply the hammer had crushed his temple.
The gun dropped to the floor.
Then, so did he.
And then, above me, the chaos of movement showcased with an exclamation point just how little time I had to act.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
While he convulsed on the floor in what I hoped were the final throes of death, instinct kicked in. I crouched beside him in the darkness, reached out my hands, and sprang into action.
I felt around the floor for his gun, which I quickly found and grabbed. Then, I searched his body to see if he had a cell phone. When I found one in his pants pocket, I took it, stood, and ran through the darkness with my arms stretched out in front of me toward the staircase and the lit bulb beyond it.
I could hear people approaching the door above me. I shoved his cell into my coat pocket and pointed the gun straight up the stairs just as someone started to open the door.
“Get back!” I shouted. “I’ve got his gun. I’ll kill you motherfuckers if you come near me!”
“God will smite you if you do.”
“Try me, asshole!” I pressed lightly on the trigger and was ready to shoot when I saw a red laser beam shoot out in front of me. The gun was equipped with a laser for accuracy. It cut up the stairs, sliced through the parted door, and slashed into the room beyond. The sight startled me, but I was thrilled to find that the gun had this kind of capability. “Try me!” I shouted. “I have you locked down!”
The door slammed shut. I heard people talking and shouting, but this time, it sounded to me like there were a lot more than just three upstairs. I listened and, from what I could hear, there had to be at least seven or eight different voices trying to figure out what to do with me now. Two of the voices were clearly female.
You’re fucked.
I’m not.
How many bullets do you think are in that gun?
I knew about guns. Like Jennifer, I came from a hunting family. Growing up poor in Maine, we fed ourselves over the winter on deer meat. My father and uncles had hunted since they were kids. Often, I’d go with them. Once, I even bagged my own deer. And then there was the research I’d done for my novels. It probably was far more relevant than my experience with hunting. Because of that research, I understood guns—I just needed to know what sort of gun I held in my hand now.
I turned the pistol toward the bare bulb to my right and saw that it was a Glock. I didn’t know which model it was, but I knew enough about Glocks to know that it had a magazine, so it likely had fifteen or more bullets in it.
Fourteen now. He just fired one.
Maybe he has another magazine on him.
You would have felt it whe
n you patted him down.
I can do some serious damage with fourteen bullets.
You think so? Not if there are eight or more of them upstairs with an arsenal of guns. You’re outnumbered. Your time is up.
The hell it is.
While they talked over each other in what sounded like a rush of panic, I pulled out the cell phone and, with shaking hands, dialed Tank’s personal number. He answered on the second ring.
“Mitch McCollister.”
His deep voice was a balm. I thought for sure that I’d never hear it again. Tears came to my eyes, but I blinked them away, got hold of my emotions, and snapped back to the present and what I needed to do. When I spoke, I kept my voice as low as possible so I wouldn’t attract any attention from above. “It’s Lisa,” I said. “I don’t have much time. I need you to listen to me. It isn’t Kevin. It isn’t Marco. Other people are behind this.”
I could hear relief and urgency in his voice when he spoke. “It isn’t them?”
“No.”
“Then who has you?” he asked. “What other people are you talking about? We’ve been searching two days for you. Where are you?”
So this was my second day here—finally, my question was answered. “I don’t know where I am—other than that I’m in a basement.”
“What basement? Where are—?”
“Tank, I need you to listen to me. My time is running out. I have a least half a dozen men and women upstairs ready to kill me. They already would have done it if I hadn’t killed the bastard who was holding me down here. I grabbed his gun. And his cell phone. Please just answer my questions, or I’m not getting out of here alive. That I can promise you. These people are sick. They’ve killed dozens. They’re insane.”
When he spoke again, he was all business—the SEAL the Marines had turned him into. “What do you need from me?”
“I don’t know where I am. And I don’t know how much longer it’ll be before they burst through that door and try to take me down. So, I need you to help me figure out where I am so that you can come for me. Or send the police for me if it turns out that you’re too far away. Whichever is quicker is what might keep me alive.”
“You said you’re in a basement?”
“I am. I’m at the base of the stairwell with my gun pointed at the door.”
“What do you have for a gun?”
“A Glock, outfitted with a laser.”
“Excellent. How much ammunition do you have?”
“One magazine. That’s it. They likely have a shitload more than I do, and can probably shoot their way down the stairs until they finally kill me. The question is this—who among them is willing to die for their cause? Which one is the martyr? Or are they all martyrs? I already doubt that. If they were, they already would have risked storming the basement. I think they’re frauds. But who knows? Some might see giving up their lives as the ultimate sacrifice to God. That’s what I’m dealing with here. These people belong to a religious sect. They see my books as blasphemous. That’s why I’m here. Before long, it’s going to get ugly.”
“Listen to me,” he said.
“What?”
“Does the basement have windows?”
“There are two.”
“What can you see out of them?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to look. But it’s night, so it’s unlikely that I can see much.”
“We don’t know that yet. Are there streetlamps near you?”
“Light is coming through the windows, so probably, yes.”
“Do you think it’s safe to look out one of those windows now?”
“I don’t know. All of this just went down a moment ago. I just threatened them with their lives. They’re still talking—I can hear them. They’re trying to work this out. They know I have his gun.”
“How many bullets do you think it has?”
“When I killed him, he involuntarily fired a shot at me. So, there might be fourteen left. That’s lowballing it. If I’m lucky, I have sixteen left. I haven’t had time to check the clip, and I don’t expect that I will. As far as I’m concerned, I have fourteen. I’m not betting on more than that.”
“All right—fourteen.”
“What I don’t know is how to get out of here. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“I need you to get to one of the windows. I need you to see if you can identify your surroundings.”
“And leave the door? What if they come through it?”
“You shoot them.”
“I won’t be in a position to shoot them. I’ll be at the window. There’s a partial wall covering the staircase. They’ll have the edge. They’ll kill me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Are they still talking?”
“They’re arguing.”
“Then get to the window while you can. They’re in the midst of sorting this out. Time is on your side, but only briefly. You need to get to the window now before it’s too late. Which one is closest to you?”
“The one to my right, but it’s up high. I’m going to have to stand on a chair so I can look through it.”
“Do you have a chair?”
“I do.”
“Then hurry. Look out the window, and see if you can see a street sign or the name of a business. Something. Anything that will mark where you are now. That’s the kind of information I need.”
I was so reluctant to move away from the stairwell that fear rooted me to the floor. “What the hell am I going to see at night even with the help of a few streetlamps?”
“We don’t know.”
“I might not even be on a street corner. I could be in the middle of a street. What’s that going to tell you?”
“Plenty. But we’ll get to that.”
With my heart beating in my throat, I looked up the staircase. I could hear a cacophony of voices, and I knew that soon they’d make the decision to try something—whatever that was. Death was breathing down my neck. I was screwed—I knew it and I felt it. So I said it. “I might not make it.”
“Don’t—”
“It’s true. You don’t know what I’m dealing with. I might die. So this is what I need you to know. I love you. You’re the love of my life, Tank. Whatever happens to me, I want you to always remember that. Tell Jennifer that I love her. Tell her that I’ll miss her fiercely. Tell Alex to take care of her for me. Please do that for me, because there’s no way that I’m getting out of this.”
“If you listen to me, you will.”
“Neither of us knows that.”
“I need you to have faith. If you listen to me—and if you use your instincts—then you still have a chance to get out of there. I’ve been praying for the past two days that I’d find you, and now here you are on the phone. So, you see—you can’t give up. I didn’t give up. You have to keep pushing. I love you, Lisa. I want to marry you. But to do that, I need you to be strong and get to that window for me.”
“I have been strong,” I said. “There’s a reason I have his phone and his gun.”
“That wasn’t a criticism.”
I took a breath and tried to clear my head. Of course it wasn’t. I was just on the verge of losing it. “I’m sorry, Tank. I’m just fucked. I know I am.”
“No, you don’t,” he said.
“How can you say that? How can you know that?”
“Get to the window and I’ll tell you. Meanwhile, I’ll call the police now so they’re ready if a certain incident happens.”
“What incident?”
“Go to the window. You’ll see.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
With fear ripping through me, I reluctantly left the stairwell, feeling that the power I’d once had over my captors was gone. I felt naked—exposed. At least when I was standing there, ready to fire at anyone who dared to open that door, I possessed a measure of power.
But not now. Now, being away from the staircase meant that they could storm it at any moment, and I’d be finished.
If you
’re going to die, then at least go down with a fight.
I closed my eyes in an effort to collect myself, and then moved as quietly as I could to the blond man’s chair beneath the lit bulb. I moved the chair to the window, and said into the phone, “All right. The chair is there.”
“Be quick. Step onto it. Look out the window. Tell me what you see. Hopefully, you’ll see a street corner or a business of some sort. If you can see either, then we’re halfway there. If you can’t, I’ll tell you what to do next.”
My jaw was aching from my lost tooth. I spit a mouthful of saliva and blood onto the floor, and stepped onto the chair so I could look through the window, which was so filthy, I couldn’t see anything but the milky blue ghost from an iridescent light.
“The window is filthy. All I can see is the light from a streetlamp. Nothing else.”
“Can you open the window?”
“What good will that do? There are bars protecting it.”
“Just try to open it. You’ll see why I’m asking in a minute.”
The window was locked. I looked for the lever to unlock it, found it, put the gun in my coat pocket, and maneuvered the gear above the handle with my free hand. As I pushed the window forward, it made a sickening scraping sound. It would only open to the point that it touched the iron bars, which likely was an additional safety measure to keep people out of the house. I could only open it halfway.
I looked out into the night, and took a deep breath of fresh air. I could see cars parked along the curbside—but no cars passing by on the street. Nobody walking by on the sidewalks. Not one soul who could help me.
I also knew from the lower class of cars across from me that I was in another part of New York. They weren’t what I was used to seeing outside of the apartment on Fifth that I shared with Jennifer. Here, the cars reflected a lower- to middle-income lifestyle. Old Toyotas, Nissans, and Fords. Nothing new and shiny. Was I even in Manhattan anymore? I wasn’t sure, but who knew? I could be in Harlem. Or in one of the rougher parts of the city. Maybe Queens or the Bronx. Hell, I could be anywhere in New York besides the wealthy blocks of Manhattan. Worse, I was nowhere near a street corner, and the area appeared residential—there were no businesses in sight. I reported all of this to Tank.
Unleash Me: Vol. 3 Page 6
