Tumbledown

by Cari Hunter

  *

  Sarah awoke to pain and darkness. She had been fading in and out for a while, all too willing to succumb to shock if it would bring her respite from the sickening way the broken bones in her leg shifted when the car hit a pothole, or turned, or made any kind of movement however small. This time she remembered where she was, remembered not to make any more futile attempts to wrestle her wrists free or to scream against the tape sealing her lips. Instead, she positioned her good leg to support her bad one, and then lay as still as possible.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, bringing into focus the outline of the trunk and its only other contents, a roll of duct tape. As far as she could see or feel, the trunk had no lever to open it from the inside. There was no conveniently discarded key for her handcuffs, nor anything she could use to pry them loose, and the injury to her leg prevented her from bringing her hands forward.

  She lowered her head to the rough upholstery. She didn’t know why she was even thinking about getting free; she couldn’t exactly run, and even if she tried, Deakin would only bloody well shoot her in her other leg. For some reason, the absurdity of that image made her smile, then laugh, and then cry slightly hysterically. Deakin was going to kill her, that seemed incontrovertible, but the fact that he hadn’t killed her outright meant he probably intended to use her to get to Alex. The realization sobered her and she squeezed her eyes shut against a thought that came unbidden: the trunk stank of blood, her own blood. It was difficult to estimate how much she had already lost, but it was enough to quicken her pulse and breathing, and make her teeth chatter despite the warmth of the enclosed space. It would be quite simple for her to tug loose the dressing the woman had applied and then aggravate the wound so that she bled out…

  The car bumped over a rut and she let out a mumbled stream of every curse she knew, straining her wrists against the cuffs until she couldn’t tell which part of her hurt the worst. It seemed like fair punishment for even contemplating taking the easy way out and leaving Alex to pick up the pieces. However much she wanted to give in right at that moment, she knew she couldn’t do that to Alex, not when there was still a chance, albeit a slim one, that someone would find her before Deakin could finish whatever he had planned. With that in mind, she decided to simplify her goals. Escape was impossible, as was overpowering her captors, which left her with only one realistic aim: to stay alive for as long as she could.

  Chapter Twenty

  With dawn still only a hint on the horizon, the gas station had been empty of customers, while its bored-looking cashier had barely spared Caleb a glance as he pulled up at the pump. Leah had heard Sarah start to kick against the trunk as soon as the car had been stationary for longer than at the average traffic signal. Through the rearview mirror, Leah had watched Caleb open the trunk and say something. Sarah hadn’t made a sound since.

  Leah jumped as Caleb rapped on the window with his keys. He didn’t speak, merely motioning her to go with him. She obeyed without question, scrambling from the car on travel-stiff legs and following him across to the store. As he turned and waited impatiently for her to catch up with him, she wondered what he thought she might do if he left her alone with Sarah. She had no car keys, no phone, no weapon, and there was no one around to help them. It came as no surprise, though, to see how little he trusted her.

  The cashier beckoned them to enter the store, clicking open the lock on the door as they approached. He mumbled a greeting and returned his attention to his cell phone. At the side of the counter, a hand-scrawled notice warned potential thieves that they were being recorded, but Leah couldn’t spot the camera. For a small, between-towns store, it was reasonably well stocked. She heard a rustle as Caleb chose a selection of snacks and took them to the counter. Cautiously, she set her own purchases alongside his. He glared at her but said nothing, evidently unwilling to give the cashier any cause to remember them.

  “All together?” the cashier asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, all together.” Keeping his head down and his cap pulled low, Caleb took the paper bag as soon as the total flashed up. He paid in cash, pocketed the change, and turned away.

  “Have a nice day.” The cashier didn’t sound as if he cared either way, but when Leah smiled warmly at him he smiled back, caught out by her geniality.

  Once they were out of earshot, Caleb thrust the bag at Leah. “What the fuck kind of game are you playing?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean. What game?”

  “Getting me to buy this shit, like it’ll make a fucking difference in the end.”

  Relief that he had missed her exchange with the cashier almost left her tongue-tied. “I’m just trying to help,” she mumbled, directing her defense at her feet, her eyes cast down as her mom had taught her.

  He didn’t bother to answer. By the time she had stowed her bag, he was already flicking through the radio stations, searching for news reports. The bulletins were dominated by Sarah’s kidnapping, Tobin’s murder, and the statewide manhunt currently underway. A generous reward was now being offered for any information leading to Caleb’s arrest. He whistled when he heard the amount, but seemed to be taking more notice than before of the few other vehicles on the road, and sweat was beginning to bead on his upper lip.

  “Might not make it back home, baby,” he said, as if that had ever been likely. He took a long drink from a can of heavily caffeinated soda and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. He wetted his lips with a tongue tinged artificially pink. “Might have to dig in somewhere and see what happens when we rattle the cage some.” He grinned and threw the map into her lap. “Find us a quiet place to stop. I need to make a few phone calls.”

  *

  The corridors of Eastern Maine Medical Center were in nighttime mode: their lighting dimmed, the few voices within them hushed. The squeak of a gurney as paramedics steered it toward an elevator seemed almost apologetic as it violated the stillness.

  Emily Kendall had been admitted to a room on the second floor. Grateful to stretch their legs, Alex and Castillo took the stairs. They didn’t need to ask for directions when they exited the stairwell; only one of the rooms had a uniformed officer seated outside it. He carefully examined Castillo’s ID and then held the door open for them.

  In keeping with the rest of the hospital, the room they stepped into was peaceful and softly lit. The woman in the bed appeared to be asleep, but there was a man at her side holding her hand. He beckoned them forward and stood as they approached.

  “James Kendall.” He offered his hand. “I’m Emily’s husband. The officer said you would be coming to speak to her. She dozed off about ten minutes ago, though. Pain meds,” he added, by way of explanation.

  Disturbed by the activity, Emily Kendall opened her eyes. She looked to be in her late forties and, judging by the naked fear in her expression, she was deeply traumatized. A large dressing covered her forehead, and both her wrists were heavily wrapped. Even without knowing officially what had happened to her, Alex had no difficulty making an educated guess. James Kendall was just about to introduce them when Emily spoke.

  “Did they find Sarah?”

  Castillo took a step closer to the bed. “No, ma’am. Not yet.”

  She nodded, but her bottom lip quivered as she looked at Alex. It was obvious that she knew who Alex was. “I wasn’t quick enough,” she said. She touched her forehead, wincing as she did so. “Sarah tried to tell me, but I didn’t believe her at first, and then…” The tears started to fall in earnest and her words became progressively more muffled as she wept. “She saved my life and I just let him take her. I’m so sorry.” She began to rock back and forth in the bed, and her husband gathered her into his arms.

  Alex looked away, pride in Sarah’s actions blunted by a sick sense of irony. For months after the Cascades, Sarah had blamed herself for having been unable to prevent the murder of a prison guard. Fate now seemed to have come full circle; Alex fervently wished that it would just fuck off and leave them alone.
She heard Castillo asking Kendall a series of simple questions and the scratching of his pen across his notepad, but Kendall didn’t know anything that could be of use to them, and her eyelids were already drooping again. She was the only guard Sarah had ever mentioned by name, the one who had ensured Sarah received medical care upon her arrival at the jail and found her a pair of sneakers to jog in. When Alex went to the bedside, Kendall held out her hand.

  “She shouldn’t ever have been in there,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “No, she shouldn’t,” Alex said, and felt Kendall’s fingers tighten. “But I’m glad you were there with her.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but she saw some of the tension ease from Kendall’s face.

  “We’ll leave you to get some rest, Officer Kendall,” Castillo said.

  At this quiet prompt, Alex placed Kendall’s hand back on the bed and followed Castillo from the room. As he nodded at the officer still on duty outside the door, his cell buzzed.

  “Agent Somers has been delayed,” he said, reading the message. “He’s asked that we meet him at the police station in Concord.”

  “Concord?” Alex caught hold of his arm. “Concord, New Hampshire?”

  He nodded. “He’s following a lead. He’s not given me the details, but Deakin seems to have crossed the state line.”

  They took the stairs two at a time, almost running along the corridors and back to the car. When Castillo tried to call Somers, he was put straight through to voice mail.

  “Deakin must be avoiding the major routes,” Alex said, tracing a line down her map and trying to estimate distances and travel times. “If all he’s doing is heading south, he should’ve gotten to New Hampshire hours ago.”

  “He’s probably sticking to the smaller roads. Less traffic means he’s less likely to be seen.” Castillo pushed his parking ticket into the machine at the barrier and tapped the wheel impatiently as the barrier lifted. “He takes the I-95 and he risks hitting the Turnpike as well.”

  “True.” The Turnpike was a toll road with regular cameras monitoring the busiest sections.

  “He hasn’t had time to plan anything,” Castillo said. “Tobin must have contacted him on the spur of the moment when Sarah’s transfer paperwork came through. They take a chance and strike, but that’s left Deakin operating on his wits now.”

  “And on his own.”

  “Most likely. At least until he manages to hook up with another contact. We still don’t know what his endgame is; he hasn’t tried to call you or the authorities. It’s been, what?” His lips moved silently as he counted. “Almost ten hours. There’s no driver’s license registered in Leah’s name, so she can’t share the load, and Deakin will have to sleep at some point or he’s going to start making mistakes. All we need is an idea of where he is, one positive sighting, something that gives us a chance to get organized and tighten the net.” He hunched over the wheel, gazing up at another clear sky as it gradually lightened. “Perfect beach weather. Let’s hope folks have watched the news before they head out there.”

  The streetlights began to flicker off one by one as the sun rose, and there were more and more commuters hurrying out of the way of Castillo’s uncompromising emergency driving. Alex glimpsed people applying lip gloss in their rearview mirrors or balancing hot coffee against the wheel as they attempted to shake off fatigue with a jolt of caffeine. She envied their normality, their everyday routine undisturbed by the headlines about a murdered police officer and the violent kidnapping of a young woman. They weren’t checking every car as it went past or struggling to suppress the images of Sarah slamming onto the ground with a bullet in her leg.

  “Alex, you okay?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Do you want me to lie to you?”

  “No.” She glanced at him and saw the sorrow in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking: that Sarah was more trouble to Deakin alive and that if he came to value his own freedom above his craving for revenge he would probably kill her and dump her body, if he hadn’t already done so.

  Castillo didn’t say anything. He turned back to the road, his chest falling in an exaggerated movement as he let out his breath.

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” Alex said into the quiet. She rubbed at her tired eyes with her knuckles. “But please don’t tell me the truth.”

  *

  The rasp of the trunk opening prompted Sarah to try to push herself into its furthest recesses. Even when she dug in with her uninjured leg, nothing really moved, and she had barely rocked back an inch before warm sunlight washed over her. She shut her eyes against the glare and the person shielding her from the worst of it. There was a rustle of cloth, and then slim, cool fingers touched the tape on her lips.

  “Don’t scream,” a woman’s voice warned her, more a plea than a threat. “There’s no one to hear you and you’ll just make Caleb mad.”

  Sarah nodded and opened her eyes a little, giving them time to adjust to the daylight after so many hours in the dark. The woman was leaning close, so close that Sarah could distinguish only a slight build and thin wisps of hair coming loose from its tie. A breeze carried fresh air tinged with salt and seaweed down into the trunk, and as Sarah listened she picked up the familiar give-and-take of waves lapping at a nearby shore. A sudden longing to see the water was so powerful it made her feel half-crazed.

  The sensation of the tape peeling away in slow increments provided a welcome diversion. It finally came free as the woman gave a reluctant tug. Sarah poked out her tongue to touch her cracked, oozing lips, but there was no moisture in her mouth to relieve the dryness.

  “Here.”

  A hand cupped her head as a plastic bottle was held to her lips. She smelled something sweet and fruity, and then tasted a cold liquid that she gulped at too fast and had to force herself not to bring straight back up. Breathing through her nose in quick snatches, she waited for the nausea to pass. As it eased and the woman murmured encouragement, Sarah took another series of cautious sips.

  “Can you swallow these?” Two pills were maneuvered awkwardly into her mouth. “It’s okay. They’re just Advil.”

  She took them with more of the juice. There was something almost comical about managing the pain of a bullet wound with ibuprofen, but she hoped they would take the edge off her headache if nothing else.

  “You cracked the light.” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper as she examined the damage to the brake light.

  Sarah made a non-committal noise. She vaguely remembered waiting for a noisy stretch of road and then kicking at the light array, hoping to damage it badly enough that a vigilant police officer might find it reason for a traffic stop. It came as a surprise to learn that she had succeeded in smashing something; the pain from her leg had been so severe that it had caused her to pass out again. She had no idea how long she had remained unconscious on that occasion.

  “Sorry,” she said, grimacing at the hoarseness of her voice; it sounded as if she smoked fifty cigarettes a day and chased them along with whiskey. She wasn’t sorry, not at all, but the woman looked so mortified that she thought it in her best interest to show remorse. The woman glanced over her shoulder; somewhere off to the left, Sarah heard a man speaking urgently, his conversation one-sided. It took her a long time to deduce that it was Deakin using his cell phone, and she wondered at how very punch-drunk she felt.

  The woman must have sensed there was a problem too, because she rested her hand on Sarah’s forehead and then checked the dressing for fresh bleeding. “You don’t look too good,” she said.

  “Don’t feel it,” Sarah admitted, her teeth rattling as she spoke. “Think I’m in shock.” It was difficult to form the words and almost impossible to remember her training on the pathophysiology and management of hypovolemia. With medical aid out of the question for the foreseeable future, oral fluids and keeping warm were the only options that seemed attainable. When she asked for more juice, the woman obliged, suppor
ting Sarah’s head and helping her to drink from the bottle until Sarah indicated that she was finished. The woman moved away, but she returned within minutes carrying a rough blanket that she tucked around Sarah.

  “What’s your name?” Sarah asked, trying to keep the conversation going, though her head was nodding and her eyes were heavy.

  “Leah.” The woman had lowered her voice to a cautious whisper and Sarah realized that Deakin had finished his call. “He told me to gag you again. I’ll have to do that now.” Leah’s eyes flickered from side to side as if certain that at some point he would sneak up on her.

  “It’s all right.” Sarah meant to sound reassuring but merely sounded resigned.

  It took Leah three attempts to cut off a strip of tape, and she whispered an apology as she smoothed it into place. Her lips were bloodless, her face wan and pinched as if she hadn’t slept or eaten properly in weeks, and nothing about the way she acted said she wanted to be a part of this. Even with a brain addled by trauma, Sarah recognized that Leah was her best hope of survival. Pushing aside her anger and revulsion at the extent of Leah’s involvement with Deakin, she made herself meet Leah’s eyes. The contact held for a few seconds, before a man’s hand shoved Leah away and banged the lid of the trunk shut. The engine started and the car’s steady acceleration folded Sarah forward onto her broken leg. Pain ripped through her. She tucked her face into the blanket and screamed.

  *

  Almost a full half-hour had elapsed, and Caleb had yet to say anything. Aware of the warning signs, Leah had already braced herself for whatever was to come. She hunched away from him, watching the rocky coastline pass by in a blur of turquoise and choppy white foam, and envying the families wandering down to the beaches, children clutching inflatables running ahead of parents laden with picnic gear. The day-trippers were out early, taking advantage of another gloriously clear morning to photograph the lighthouses on the promontories or wave at the colorful fishing boats chugging out of the harbors. Not knowing whether she would ever be able to come back, Leah pressed her hands to the soft swell of her abdomen and tried to commit as many of the details to memory as she could.