Sara's Game

by Ernie Lindsey

  Maybe, but will he care if you get him out of here?

  If I explain what the note said...

  Later. You still have to get out of this.

  “Michael?”

  “Yes?”

  “What happened to your sister?”

  “Long story.”

  “Well, you have a captive audience.”

  “How do you still have a sense of humor?”

  “It’s the only thing I have left.”

  “Good point.”

  “Your sister?”

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m curious.”

  “And a terrible liar.”

  “Was she abused?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What would you say?”

  “I wouldn’t say anything. The past is the past.” He climbed to his knees, lit the lantern, and sat back down.

  The new light in the room revealed the extent of Teddy’s bruising, the snot draining from his nostrils. The wet patch between his legs had expanded to cover his crotch and the inside of his thighs.

  Sara gawked at Teddy.

  Michael said, “He can take a punch.”

  “Do you like hurting people?”

  “Enough with the therapy session, Sara.”

  “I’m trying to understand.”

  “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. The things I had to watch them do to her...”

  “Who, Michael? Who did those things?”

  “You really want to know what happened? You really want to know why you’re in a cage?”

  “I can—”

  “You can’t anything, Sara. There’s no helping her. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “What happened?”

  Michael stood up, walked into the main room. She heard him rummaging around in the cooler, heard the sounds of ice clattering about. He came back with a beer, twisted off the cap, and drained the bottle. Pivoted, and hurled it out the door. The glass shattered. He said, “She—she has issues.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Not like this. Not most people. Our dad—he left when we were kids. We never knew why. No reason. One day he stood up from the dinner table and walked out the door. Never saw him again. I didn’t mind so much. He was strict. Mean. Drunk all the time, but my sister loved him like nothing else in the world. So when he left, it ruined her. Abandonment issues. Doesn’t like people leaving her. That’s why she does what she does when they try to leave. Melodrama, right? Like some bad TV show, like you said. But then Mom...she took a bunch of pills about a week later. We wound up in this foster home—God, I shouldn’t be telling you this. She wouldn’t like it.”

  “If you need to talk, talk. She’ll never know.”

  Michael paced back and forth. “They made us call them Mother and Father. She hated them, and they knew it, too. Our dad was a cupcake compared to them. And you want to know what made it worse? They adored me. I don’t know why, maybe because I listened. Obeyed. They gave me anything I asked for, and Mother—Mother put her in a cage whenever she misbehaved. An actual cage, Sara.

  “Locked her in a cage in a windowless bedroom, and she’d make her play these sadistic games to get out. I know it damaged her at first, but after a while—when she got older—I think she enjoyed it, and I swear she’d get thrown in there on purpose. I wish that I’d been able to do something sooner. Father didn’t do a damn thing, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help her because I was too scared—what could I do? But your—your husband—he tried to leave, and now she’s taking it out on you. You see? You wanted to know, you wanted to know. See how it all fits together now? Do you? Huh? Do you? The game, the cage, torturing a mother? It was bad before, but this, it’s too much. I’m done. No more.”

  Too far, Sara. Bring him back.

  “Let’s talk about something else, something better. Do you really have a little boy?”

  “You got what you wanted to hear.”

  “I’m serious. I want to know, really. You’ve got a son?”

  “Had.”

  “Had? What happened?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Did your sister—”

  “God, no,” he interrupted. “He’s with his mother.”

  “Do you see him much?”

  “Never.”

  “Why?”

  “She gave me a choice. No sister or no wife. When I told her I had no choice, she left. Haven’t seen her or William since.”

  “Where are they?”

  “No clue.”

  “Haven’t you ever tried to find them?”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea. She wouldn’t like it.”

  “Your wife or your sister?”

  “Sister.”

  “She has that much control over you?”

  “I owe it to her.”

  “No you don’t. You said so yourself, you’re done. Take your life back.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It can be. You have my permission.”

  “I don’t need your permission, Sara. What I need is for that little black cloud to be gone.”

  “She owns you.”

  “Owns? I guess that’s the right word.” He went quiet. The whispering lantern drowned out everything else in the room until he spoke again. “I think of her as another organ. Something inside me that a doctor’s never seen before, like this thing that only lets my heart beat when she’s ready to allow it.”

  “What if she’s your appendix?”

  “My appendix?”

  “Something you could live without.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “But what if it did?” Sara tried to stretch. Every muscle was cramping and aching again. “What if you could disappear?”

  “She found me in Chicago. She found me in Atlanta. She found me in San Diego. I don’t know how, but she always does. She finds me, draws me in again, and I have no control over it. She said if I tried to hide from her one more time...game over.” He leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor.

  The resignation in his voice, the defeated tone of it, gave Sara new hope. He'd tried and failed on his own, but if he had help, if he really wanted out...

  She said, “It might be game over for you, but not for me. Let me out, let me fight back. I’ll fight with you, or even for you. You can be free. If you won’t try, at least let me. Give me a chance.”

  “I can’t. She’ll never forgive me.”

  “Please, Michael. I want my kids to have a good life.”

  He said, “I wanted a good life. She wanted a good life.”

  “I know you did. We all do, but there’s nothing I can do to change that. My kids still have a chance.”

  He rubbed a shaky hand across his face. Slapped the gun barrel against his palm again. Slap...slap...slap, like a ticking clock. “You’ll have to get past Samson first.”

  “Samson?”

  “The one who took your son this morning.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Is he an ex-boyfriend or something?”

  “I told you it doesn’t matt—Jesus, you’re stubborn. He stayed with us for a while. With Mother and Father. Just a beast of a kid, even back then.”

  “And she has control over him, too? Like you?”

  “Unconditional.”

  “But how?”

  “I can’t tell you this stuff, Sara. She wouldn’t like it.”

  “Come on, it’s okay. I won’t say anything.”

  Michael punched his thigh, forced a few sharp breaths in and out, and then scratched his head with the silencer’s rim. “He’d only been there for a couple of days before it started.”

  “What started?”

  “The bullying. He zeroed in on her. Hounded her constantly. No mercy, day after day. I look back now and think that Mother probably put him up to it. Whenever my sister would try to fight him, bam, straight in the cage. That went on for a while, and then one day,
he shot me in the thigh with a BB gun. Bully the little girl all you want, but no, you hurt Mother’s favorite? You’re done for. I think she had him locked up for week, maybe longer. You should’ve seen him. I mean, he barely fit. So he’s in there, and my sister, she goes in and she says, ‘I can get you out, but you have to do whatever I say, forever and ever. Pinky swear.’ Calculating, you know? Even when she was twelve. I think he was already broken at that point, but he didn’t say a word, he just slipped his pinky finger out and wrapped it around hers. The next day, she threw a handful of spaghetti at Mother’s face, and that was the end of it. He’s been under her thumb since. Asks her how high before she even tells him to jump.”

  It was sad, in a way, but Sara couldn’t make herself care about the pathetic bastard that had taken her little boy. “Does she have anyone else?”

  “That she controls? No. She can manipulate anyone to get whatever she wants, but we’re the only two...we’re the only two—”

  “Only two what?”

  Michael sighed. “Slaves.”

  “What about the woman on the bike, on the bridge?”

  “Some drama student she hired. Told her we were playing a practical joke—this game—and all she had to do was follow you and report whatever she saw.”

  “You weren’t worried she would go to the police?”

  “It was risky, but you give somebody just enough detail, they’ll believe anything is harmless.”

  “I asked her for help.”

  His surprise was visible. “You did? We never thought—”

  “She said that wasn’t how the game was played.”

  Michael nodded. “Enough to spook you, let you know you were being watched. She’s out of the picture, though. Played her part and now she’s gone. But Samson—it’s impossible. He won’t let anything happen.”

  “I’ll figure it out. I can do it. You have to let me try.”

  “You won’t win.”

  “You can’t win if you don’t play. Give me a chance. Give my kids a chance. Think about your little boy. You’d fight for him, wouldn’t you?”

  Seconds passed. A minute. Sara waited and watched him. Slap...slap...slap. Whatever was going on inside his mind had left his face blank. She didn’t dare say anything else, didn’t want to ruin her chances by pushing too far.

  Another minute passed before he shoved himself away from the wall, crawled over to her. He took the key out of his pocket and reached for the lock. Hesitated, then jammed it in and twisted.

  The sound of the lock clattering to the floor was the most liberating thing Sara had ever heard. She scrambled out, nearly falling over when she tried to stand on her weak, throbbing legs.

  He stood up beside her.

  She flinched when he took her hand, but relaxed when he put the set of car keys in her palm, closing her fingers around them. “Take these,” he said. “She’s in my basement. The kids, too.” He recited his address and then made Sara repeat it back to him.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “When you go in, the basement door is to the left, just past the living room, but you’re going to need somebody with you. She’ll know something’s up if she only hears one person walking upstairs.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “I can’t...I should—I have other plans.”

  She didn’t know what he meant by that, and didn’t dare to ask. She pointed at Teddy, who’d passed out during their conversation. “What about him?”

  Michael looked over his shoulder at the crumpled and beaten body. “He was supposed to be the scapegoat.”

  “I mean, can I take him with me?”

  “There’s no use for him now. He can go, but you’re carrying him.” He untied Teddy, slung the soaking gag to the floor. Brought him close, draped his arm over Sara. He shoved his cell phone into her hand. “Her number is in there. Look under ‘Sis’. You’ll have service about a mile down the road, but don’t call, don’t you dare call, or you’ll never see them again. Send a text. Say, ‘Penalty enforced, ready for level three.’ She’ll think it’s me and give you instructions. You really want to know how to beat her? Play your own game. She’ll never expect it.”

  “How?”

  “You said you can figure it out. Now go, before I change my mind.”

  “Can’t you just tell me what—”

  “—I said go—”

  “—the third level is supposed to be?”

  Michael said, “No. She wouldn’t—”

  “I don’t care if she likes it or not. Help me...please.”

  He exhaled, stepped back, and glanced down at his feet. “You’ll get one more call from her on your phone. Then at the house, I’m supposed to bring you down to the basement and give you another note. Instructions like all the rest, and she’s going to be tied up too, just to throw you off.”

  “That’s it?”

  “She mentioned puzzles, one for each of your kids, but she changes things at the last minute. I never know what she’ll do until the end. In your case, the only thing that’s certain is the outcome.”

  “What’s the outcome?”

  “You’re dead and your kids are in a foster home. Same thing that happened to us.”

  “Dead? But she said—”

  “You think what she says matters to her? You can’t win. Not her game.”

  “Then what should I do?”

  “I told you, play your own game, and that’s all I can give you. Go. Go. Go,” he shouted.

  Sara nodded, aware that she was close to going back in the cage if she didn’t get moving.

  She used her hips and shoulders to pull Teddy along, shuffling through the cabin, struggling under his limp body. He could manage a step or two, follow it with a stumble. “You can do it,” she whispered. “We’re free.”

  They were halfway through the yard before Michael called out to her. “Sara,” he said.

  She heaved Teddy around.

  He stood on the front porch, gun at his side.

  Please don’t...please don’t shoot...

  “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t tell her I let you go. She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t like it.”

  “I promise.” Still trying to make her happy. Still her slave, aren’t you?

  Sara bent and lifted Teddy higher, making her way through the yard, careful not to slip on the bed of pine needles.

  The wind was calm. Trees stood tall and motionless overhead. Through the serenity of the peaceful forest, she heard the puff of air escaping a silencer, followed by the thump of a mass falling on wood.

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 19

  DJ

  DJ cursed at the rush hour traffic on I-5. He hadn’t seen it this bad in ages. Radio reports indicated a three-car pileup. One overturned, serious injuries, paramedics en route.

  I should’ve known better, he thought. It was always a gamble, even when he wasn’t in a hurry. Fight the bumper-to-bumper exodus back to the suburbs on the interstate, or march from stoplight to stoplight like all the other zombies on the streets who were trying to get home.

  Barker hadn’t answered his multiple calls, so he sat in line, creeping ahead, inch by excruciating inch, using the delay to think, to analyze.

  At the mention of the necklace, he’d rushed out of Willow Bluesong’s house without thought as to where he was going or what he should do next. His first reaction was to be on the move, in a hurry to get somewhere, and now, sitting at a complete standstill, the lapse in judgment had cost him.

  Lights and siren. Just get out of this mess. But go where?

  Shelley Sergeant’s place was the obvious choice, however unlikely it was that she would be home. But was she involved? Really? Her California DMV records had said her eyes were green. Not mismatched. Not brown and blue.

  Wait...I didn’t check her history...what if it was...

  The Mazda in front of him managed to move forward, and DJ eased up on the brakes, coasted along with it. He called the station, got
Davis on the line, asked him to check up on Shelley Sergeant with explicit instructions to look for anything out of the ordinary about her eyes.

  He waited. He hoped. He crawled another two feet.

  His cell rang, caller ID revealing it was Barker. He answered, “It’s about time.”

  “Easy, JonJon, I got enough of that from my ex-wife. Looks like you were tapping that speed dial button with a jackhammer. You got something?”

  “That necklace. The one the bartender mentioned.”

  “I thought you’d given up on that one.”

  “It’s a stretch, but—”

  “We live and die by coincidence, cowboy. What’ve you got?”

  “Shelley Ann Sergeant. Sara Winthrop’s assistant.”

  “She told you whose it was?”

  “No,” he said, rolling forward, “I think she was wearing it.”

  “What? How’d you find that out?”

  “The Bluesong woman.”

  “The babysitter?”

  “I figured I’d start the ground-pounding with her. Hit the high spots and then work my way out. Good thing I did. Anyway, you should’ve seen the look on her face when I mentioned the Sergeant girl.”

  “Could’ve chewed through leather, huh?”

  “Fireballs out of her eyes. Here’s the thing: she says that Sergeant wears this necklace with the letters ‘S.D.’ on it. Said she thinks it stands for ‘She-Devil’.”

  “No kidding. She got that eye disease thing you were so hell-bent on?”

  “Davis is checking up on it. She’s from Cali, driver’s license says her eyes are green, though.”

  “Liars lie. Whereabouts down south? You’ve got him looking for priors, don’t you?”

  “Yep. Last known address was...holy shit.”

  “What?”

  “San Diego...S.D. Too much of a stretch?”

  “I’ve seen less break a case wide open, so let’s run with it. Bartender said the letters were—what was the word she used? Intertwined?”

  “Right. Could it be a logo?”

  “Possible. What has an S.D. on it down there? You know, for a symbol? Sports team?”

  “The Chargers?”

  “Lightning bolt, JonJon. You don’t watch much football, do you?”

  DJ ignored the jab. “The Padres? They have an S.D. on their caps, don’t they?”