by Ray Backley
“Hi again.”
His head was bowed, but it lifted as he returned her Hi, showing warm hazel eyes and beads of sweat on his brow. He poured a whole cup of cold water into his mouth, gulping it down noisily.
“Are you okay?” she said. “You look like you’re burning up.”
“Oh, lunchtimes I work out. Counteracts a day in the saddle.” He took a step back. “I don’t smell, do I? You would tell me if I stank like a hobo, wouldn’t you?”
“Mmm . . . I wouldn’t say you smell that bad.”
“I’ve had better compliments, but thanks.” He stared into space for a second and added, “Actually, I’m not sure I have had better compliments, but that’s my problem.”
She couldn’t help but smile.
He smiled too, a lop-sided effort showing off very white teeth. “A sad fact, I know. And unfortunately, true. But I guess all facts are true. It’s what makes them facts. I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”
“I’m Catherine.”
“No, no. I didn’t mean my name was rambling.”
This time she couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Oh, jeez. This isn’t going well. Can we start again? Do I get another turn?”
“Sure, you do. Nice to meet you. My name’s Catherine, but people call me Cath.”
“Dur, because it’s shorter, right?”
“Dur, yeah.”
She waited for him to fill the pause with his name. He didn’t. So she continued.
“I keep telling myself I need to start at a gym. Is your one near to here?”
“End of the block. Awesome place too. Good sound system. No pressure. I mean, I could, uh . . . I could take you there, if you’d like?”
“That’d be cool.”
“Really? Awesome. How about tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll meet you here about noon.”
“Thanks. There’s just one thing.”
“Sure.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, of course, sorry. I’m Daniel. But Dan works too.”
“Shorter, right?”
“No. Brewer. Dan Brewer. And hey, don’t make fun of my height, okay?”
Cath laughed all the way back to her PC.
Later that evening, alone in her apartment, she realized that something had been missing from her life for many years, and now, with the help of her new friend, she had rediscovered it. It confused her for a few minutes, brought tears to her eyes. Sure, she’d been watching a few sitcoms just lately, but humor of the personal kind – especially of the warm and quirky variety – had become a stranger to her over the past few years, and it was like welcoming a long-lost lover. She dried her eyes and told herself this could be an important new chapter in her life. Quite a few times that evening her mind drifted back to that innocent, brief drinks machine conversation, and it made her giggle to herself.
That night, for the first time in many years, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
Chapter 11
By the time another cereal bar meal and a few makeshift bathroom visits had come and gone, Dan had thought about the loose concrete blocks and now had another idea. He couldn’t push them out because something very solid was clearly holding them in at the other end, but perhaps he could pull them out.
The problem was that they were flush with the surrounding blocks. There was hardly room between them to slide in a sheet of paper, let alone his fingers. They were loose and would come out, for sure, but there was no way to get a grasp on them to pull them. Of course, if he had his tool box he would drill, plug, insert a screw and pull it, but that was wishful thinking. The only pieces of metal available were the pins of the electrical plug, and if he went down that route – even if he managed to use them in some way – he would be working in the dark – the full dark.
He ran his fingers along the tiny gaps between the blocks. No. No way they would fit.
Tiny fingers, however, might stand a chance. The idea of Phoebe or Benjie cutting or squashing their fingers didn’t exactly appeal, but neither did one more night – let alone weeks – in this mausoleum. That would drive them all nuts and the mental scars the children would carry for the rest of their lives didn’t bear thinking about.
“Benjie, come here a moment, please.”
Dan explained what he wanted his son to do, which was to jam his tiny fingers into what looked like the largest gap and wriggle them side to side until one of the blocks moved with them.
“Mommy said not to put my fingers in holes.”
Dan smiled and took a moment to think, then said, “Mommy told me this time it’s okay.”
“When did she say that?”
Sometimes an inquisitive child was a blessing. Other times not so much.
“Yesterday. She told me yesterday. She told me she loves all three of us more than anything on the planet, and that you could do this as long as I was with you.”
“Oh-kay.” Benjie’s cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s as he smiled. He waited, fingers poised, then said, “I don’t want to.”
Dan groaned. The onlooking Phoebe said, “Why don’t you use one of the books, Daddy?”
Dan’s eyes hit the container, and a few seconds later he was dismembering a hardback book. He apologized under his breath to Cath, wherever she was, and that made him stop and think for just a moment. Where could she be right now? And what in God’s name could she possibly have gotten herself involved in that would justify all of this?
He told himself that right now those kinds of thoughts weren’t helping – not while there was a chance of escape. He jammed the two pieces of stiff cardboard into the gaps either side of a block, pulled the whole arrangement left and then right a few times, teasing the block away from its neighbors. Soon it was half an inch clear, then an inch clear, enough to grab a hold of. He dropped the cardboard, grabbed either end of the block with his fingertips, and pulled.
Easy.
It was even easier once he had a few inches to play with and could grab the block between both hands.
Once one block was out, there was space to grab and pull the other loose ones. It didn’t take long to pull them all out, leaving a hole just about large enough for a body to fit through. He peered inside the hole and saw what looked like a dark brown barrier at the other end. He reached in and tapped. Wood. He punched it. Very solid wood. If he could move that wood, he could crawl out. He shoved his feet in the hole and pushed hard, jamming his hands against the remaining blocks for purchase.
It gave way. Just a little, but it gave way. He could now also see dim light coming through either side. He pushed more. There was more resistance. He gritted his teeth, and with a loud grunt shoved the wood forward.
And then there was an almighty crashing noise that made the children scream and somehow pushed the wood firmly back against the hole.
Dan stamped his foot against the wood. “No, no, no, NO!” He stamped again and again, but it was no good. Whatever had happened – or whoever was on the other side – the wooden barrier was now solidly jammed against the end of the hole. There was no give in it whatsoever. Dan gave one last kick and retreated to the other end of the room, where he sat, exhausted.
“You’re sweating, Daddy.”
“I know, Phoebe.” He puffed out a long breath, wanted to punch something, but knew he was frustrated, so turned his back on the children.
He started to think that if Cath really had been the one who had put them down here, perhaps she was the only person alive who knew they were there. And if anything happened to her . . . who would find them?
Phoebe tapped him on the shoulder.
She had a bottle of water in her hand. “I looked for an ice-cream but couldn’t find one.”
It made him smile. He wouldn’t have wished in his worst nightmare for the children to be going through this ordeal with him, but just for a moment he was glad of their company.
He took
the bottle. “Thank you, sweetie.” After pouring half the contents down his throat he screwed the cap back on and tossed it into the corner. “Come here. You too, Benjie.”
All three of them lay back together, and Dan pulled a blanket over them.
Looking at the children made him think of Cath again. Could there be something about her he didn’t know?
He remembered meeting her at Verusian Financial Services. They immediately got along well as co-workers – albeit in completely different departments – but for a long time he dismissed any idea of a closer relationship because she was so far out of his league. But she wanted to hang out with him, lunchtimes they even went to the gym together, and in time she gave him what were, in hindsight, subtle signals. He ignored them at the time because he simply didn’t get them, which was, in turn, because he was a jerk.
Even when he left Verusian Financial Services and wasn’t sure whether she would still want to meet up at the gym, she was eager to do so and he was very happy about that but didn’t say so, just agreed with a shrug.
And then, after one time they’d been to the gym together and shared a drink afterward, she gave him a lingering kiss on the lips. It was a sign even a jerk couldn’t ignore.
As the relationship developed, the question of what she saw in him never completely disappeared. He wasn’t so self-deprecating to think he was ugly, and he knew they shared the same goofy sense of humor, but he was hardly a hunk, had a dress sense that could be summed up by “it’s comfortable,” and wasn’t exactly Bill Gates in the wealth department.
Over the very happy years of marriage and fatherhood that followed, those thoughts – suspicions, even – had drifted away, but were now speeding back. Did he have Cath wrong all these years? Was she taking him for a ride of some sort?
Another look at the children made him tell himself not to be stupid, that this was real life, not a Hollywood movie, and in real life nobody would sacrifice so many years of their life setting up some sort of sting operation. He almost cried with shame at thinking such a thing. Cath was a model mother, a good wife, and a damn fine woman.
He checked his watch. It said 6:32 p.m.
Hours earlier he’d been adamant he wasn’t going to spend one more night in this place, that there was definitely no way he would fall asleep knowing he was incarcerated.
But something within him knew what was best for his body and mind – knew what would help him work out the next step in the escape – and that was sleep.
He reached across and turned the light out.
Full black coal-mine dark.
Chapter 12
An hour after sunset that same evening, Vinnie Lemont’s beaten-up Toyota turned into Lancaster Drive. House number forty-one was dark, quiet, and waiting patiently just for him. As far as he was aware, nobody knew he’d found the bitch out.
They’d probably all gone to bed. It was just the kind of tedious shit you had to put up with when you had kids. If they were all in bed it would be easier to take just one; Phoebe or Benjie, he didn’t care, because he would return for the other one just when Karen’s pain of loss was at its peak.
He drove along the road once or twice just to check for anything suspicious, then parked up a hundred yards away and walked softly back along the sidewalk.
A truck passed by and he pulled his hood up, face in darkness, walking straight past number forty-one.
In passing, he noticed there were no cars on the drive; they probably had a nice car each – nothing extravagant, perhaps two years old – and were careful sorts so had put them in the double garage overnight. Yeah, she’d done well for herself.
He glanced around, checking across the street and every which way for twitching curtains and figures who might be taking an interest in this dark-clothed stranger, but he saw nothing, so sidled back.
He spent only a few seconds standing on the sidewalk outside the house, checking out every window for lights, then strode up to the house, quickly disappearing around to the back yard. He plucked his cell phone from his jeans pocket. Checked the text message one last time just to be certain. Definitely number forty-one. Definitely Lancaster Drive, Pasadena.
A few moments later the cell phone was back in his pocket and he was pulling on a pair of thin leather gloves. His hands cupped the glass as he peered inside. It was the kitchen, as expected, with the living room just visible beyond. Everything was normal. Good.
He pulled a small crowbar from his inside coat pocket and held it up to the back door. It paid to be quick; hanging around a back yard was merely suspicious, but messing with a door seal was telling a neighbor to dial 911 right away.
It wouldn’t budge. He pulled away for a moment, hiding the bar, then moved along and tried a window. Same result.
High security seals. A curse hissed its way up to the heavens.
Trying a different window only yielded the same result.
He stood back and looked up. There was an open window up top, but no way to get there unless he was spiderman.
He tried yet another kitchen window, straining just a little more, getting nowhere.
Then he noticed the metal cover on the wall near his feet. He thought for a moment. Was this the ventilation grille for the cellar or basement? It certainly looked like it, so he lay down, head to the ground, to take a closer look. There were no screws that he could undo; it was probably sealed in with some kind of industrial glue for the sake of security. Also, it probably wasn’t big enough for him to slip through. But it was worth a try.
He jammed the hooked end of the crowbar behind the frame of the grille, held it in place while he stood, and pushed the other end of the tool with his foot, using all his weight to lever the frame off. It wouldn’t budge. He jumped up and down on it, stamped on it.
Ha! The thing moved. A fraction of an inch, but it moved with just a quiet crack. He used the bar to move it out even more, working his way around the frame, and soon was able to lift out the whole assembly.
And now, with the whole frame out, the hole looked slightly bigger. He hadn’t liked prison cuisine at the time, but perhaps it had been kind to his figure. He glanced left, right, behind, then slid himself in, holding onto the brickwork surround until his feet were a few inches from the floor.
He landed pretty quietly, then stood still, listening.
Nothing.
Crowbar back in pocket. Cell phone out. Flashlight app on.
Yep. No doubt about it. A basement storage workshop kinda thing.
With steps leading up to a door.
He approached the steps, but on the way there something caught his eye. To one side, a large chest of drawers lay awkwardly on its front. Well, not quite on its front; its top was jammed against a brick pillar, its legs were pinning an old door to the opposite wall, as if it had toppled over but there hadn’t been quite enough room for it to settle on the concrete floor. No matter. He pulled his pistol out of the back of his belt.
Quietly up the steps, causing only a slight creak as he opened the door at the top. He stepped into the hallway and stood motionless, listening. Still, the only noise was the hum of distant traffic. Cool.
He took a few steps into the kitchen, all the while scanning the walls and worktops. There were photographs. He recognized the woman. A grin blossomed on his face. This was confirmation. He hadn’t wasted his five hundred bucks. Even cooler.
Ten minutes later, he wasn’t quite so happy; he’d searched every room, all three beds. The place was empty. He let out an exasperated grunt.
All this effort and the bitch had gone on vacation with her husband and their rug rats.
In the master bedroom, a large family photograph took pride of place on the dressing table. It felt good to put faces to the names he’d been supplied with. It made it all the easier to visualize what he was going to do to them.
But obviously not right now. He would have to come back another day. He would leave the house, replace the ventilation grille, and try some other week.
; At the top of the stairs he caught sight of another family photograph hanging on the wall. More recent. Kids a little older. Everyone grinning. It was sickening how nicer than nice her life was. He kept his eyes on the photo as he took the first step down, hating the cozy life Karen was now enjoying, which was probably how he managed to tread on something that caused him to lose his footing. He let out a yelp as he fell, cracking his head on the handrail in the process, then thumped down a few steps, just about managing to grab onto one of the vertical bars to stop himself falling all the way down.
“Shit!” he shouted out.
He looked back up at the little fat crocodile toy he’d trodden on. He removed his gloves and rubbed his head; no lasting harm done there, and no blood left at the scene. But he needed a cigarette, so sat on the top step and lit up. The house was empty, so it didn’t matter how long he stayed there.
Something woke Dan up.
He wasn’t sure whether it had been a car backfiring or someone in the street outside shouting. That was one thing he’d noticed: now the concrete blocks had been taken out, a little more noise was finding its way into the tomb. He’d already heard a truck with a loose muffler, the hooting of an owl, and something – possibly a racoon – knocking a trash can over. Still, none of it was much of a clue as to where he and the children were.
“I want mommy,” he heard, followed by gulps of tears. He hadn’t even noticed that Benjie had woken, but pulled him closer and hugged him, rubbing his shoulder because there was nothing he could say to comfort the boy. Benjie’s words, however, had woken Phoebe up.
“Can we get out of this place now?” she said.
Dan shook his head, held his other arm out, and seconds later had a child under each arm.
“Why can’t we get out?” she said.
“You don’t give up, do you, sweetie?”
That silenced her. So he thought.
“Can’t we try something else? Can’t you call someone?”
Dan let out a laugh, wiped one of his own tears away, then said, “I don’t have my cell phone, sweetie.”
