Of Spice and Men

by Sarah Fox

  I was halfway to my feet when a foot slammed into the back of my knee. My leg buckled and I hit the floor again, a new pain joining the chorus of all my other aches. I rolled onto my back and scooted backward, but I bumped into something blocking my way. Reaching out with my hand, I touched an arm. Jamal’s arm.

  A dark shape moved in the shaft of dim light shining down from the kitchen. A brighter light flashed on, directed right at my face. I put up a hand to shield my eyes and tried to scoot around Jamal. This time my back hit a sturdy post.

  “You’ve made my day a whole lot easier,” a woman said from behind the beam of the flashlight.

  Her voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “I thought I’d have to lure you here or do away with you somewhere else, but then in you waltzed so conveniently.”

  She took a step toward me, but with the light half-blinding me, I couldn’t see anything more than a large, looming shape.

  “People know I’m here,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady and confident.

  “Then I’ll just have to wrap things up quickly, won’t I?”

  She flashed the light over Jamal’s inert form. I blinked and stared hard at her as she took on more definition.

  “Debbie?”

  The beam of bright light swung back my way and I had to shield my eyes again.

  “You sound surprised. I thought you’d have everything figured out by now.”

  “I was getting there.”

  “Which is exactly why we’re here.”

  I desperately wanted to jump to my feet and attempt to escape, but I knew Debbie would grab me before I got anywhere. My phone glowed from across the room, but I wasn’t the only one to notice it. Debbie raised one foot and stomped down on the device. I cringed at the crack of the screen breaking. My lifeline had been stolen from me.

  I glanced around for the wrench but couldn’t see it. Shifting my hand across the dirt floor, I made contact with Jamal’s arm. Running my fingers down to his wrist, I checked for a pulse. The steady beat that thrummed against my fingertips brought me a sliver of relief.

  “Killing me and Jamal won’t solve your problems,” I said. “We’re not the only ones who know that Willa Stiles is the killer. And it won’t take them long to figure out that you and Willa are one and the same.”

  “Now, that really makes me testy,” Debbie groused. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to give up this life. I spent a lot of time building it, and now I’ll have to start all over again.”

  “So why don’t you do that? Take off and leave me and Jamal alone.”

  She let out a harsh laugh. “So you can send the cops after me right away? No, thanks. I need to buy myself some time, especially since I have to pay a visit to that journalist in the hospital before I go anywhere. I need to make sure he won’t wake up and start blabbing before I’ve had a chance to leave the country.”

  Her dark outline moved and I squinted through the light, trying to figure out what she was doing. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought she was rummaging around in a pocket. The beam of the flashlight dipped down from my face and I tensed, ready to make a move to flee, but then the light snapped back up into my eyes.

  “Don’t even think about trying anything,” she warned as I winced against the brightness.

  I stayed still for the moment, trying not to panic at the thought that I was running out of time to do something to save myself and Jamal from the fate Debbie had planned for us.

  “Did you really think you could go on forever without anyone figuring out that you’re wanted by the police?” I asked, slowly shifting my feet into a better position for a quick jump up from the floor.

  “I was hoping I could. And I probably would have, if not for Christine and her annoying habit of remembering faces. She used to live in New York, you see. My face was flashed all over the media after the robbery. She must have seen it then and never forgot it.”

  “In sixteen years no one else ever recognized you?”

  “It’s amazing what ninety pounds, new hair, and glasses can do. Aging and dressing like a frump didn’t hurt either. Who would ever think drab old me was once a model? Nobody, that’s who.” Her last words came out sharp with bitterness.

  “Except Christine,” I reminded her. “Why did you frame Alyssa for the murder?”

  Her bitterness intensified. “She’s a rising star, like I was back in the day. I didn’t get to enjoy the glory of stardom, so why should she?”

  I held back from pointing out that Debbie hadn’t reached modeling stardom because of her own bad choices.

  “Besides,” she went on, “Alyssa’s a selfish snob. She always talks to me like I’m nobody. It was fun to watch her suffer.”

  She laughed, a harsh sound that she cut off abruptly a second later.

  “Now turn around,” she ordered, apparently done with our conversation. When I moved to get to my feet, she shouted, “Don’t get up! Just turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  It was getting harder and harder to ignore the panic that was threatening to take hold of me. Not knowing what else to do, I started to obey, shifting slowly around to face the post that had been at my back.

  Before I’d turned more than a few degrees, Jamal stirred next to me.

  Debbie swung the flashlight his way, and I knew that might be my only chance to act.

  I jumped to my feet and barreled into Debbie. She was much taller and heavier than I was, but the force of the impact was enough to send her stumbling back a couple of steps. I didn’t wait around to see how quickly she’d recover. Grabbing the wooden railing, I charged up the steps toward the rectangle of natural light at the top.

  As soon as I reached the kitchen, I threw myself at the back door and tried to shove it open. It wouldn’t budge. I pushed at it with all my might, but to no avail. It was stuck in the frame.

  Hearing heavy, hurried footsteps on the cellar stairs, I ran for the front of the house.

  Halfway along the hall, I caught sight of the front door. My uncaged panic escalated. I’d forgotten that the door was boarded up. I pried at the sheet of plywood with my fingers. A splinter broke off, taking a piece of one of my fingernails with it, but the plywood remained firmly nailed in place.

  Almost crying from fear and desperation, I tried one last time to wrench at the sheet of wood. It still wouldn’t give. My eyes darted to the front windows, but they too were boarded up. I spun around in time to see Debbie appear at the end of the hallway. As her face contorted with anger and she charged toward me, I went the only way I could—up.

  I made it to the landing without incident and rushed for the next stairs. I tripped and smacked my chin on one of the wooden treads. Debbie’s feet pounded against the stairs below me, the sound propelling me onward. I clambered up the rest of the stairs and dashed to the left, remembering just in time to jump over the rotten floorboards halfway down the hall.

  Two doors up ahead beckoned me. I ran for the one that led to the front bedroom. Only the front windows on the lower level were boarded up, and I was hoping I could catch the attention of someone down on the street. I shoved the bedroom door open without pausing, but I spun around at the sound of a startled cry.

  Debbie’s foot had broken through the rotten floorboards. I stood there, my back pressed up against the doorframe, breathing hard. Debbie braced herself against the wall and tried to yank her foot out of the grasp of the rotten boards. It didn’t work, but some of the wood gave way and I knew it wouldn’t take her long to free herself.

  I pushed off from the doorframe and ran across the empty bedroom to the window. I yanked at it, trying to raise the sash. It was stuck. I almost cried out with frustration, but I didn’t waste any more time. I backed up two paces and drove my foot against the glass. It cracked but didn’t break. I kicked the glass again, and this time it shattered, leaving jagged pieces around the edge.

  Running footsteps sounded behind me. I glanced over my shoulder.

&nb
sp; Debbie’s black-clad form lunged toward me. I darted to the right, but not far or fast enough. Debbie grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the bedroom door.

  “Help!” I yelled, directing my voice at the broken window.

  I shouted again as Debbie dragged me out into the hall. I struggled the whole way, trying to free myself, but her grip was too strong. She pulled me around the broken floorboards and over to the top of the stairway.

  “Help!” I called out once more.

  “Shut up!” Debbie shoved me down, face-first.

  I hit the floor hard. Before I could recover enough to scramble away from her, Debbie dug one of her knees into my back, pinning me to the dusty floorboards. I tried to move, to inch my way toward the stairs, but I was helpless. It was hard enough to breathe beneath Debbie’s weight. Escaping was impossible.

  She kept me pressed against the floor as she yanked my arms behind my back and tied my wrists together with what felt like rope. I did my best to fight her but had no more luck than before.

  Once my hands were secured behind me, Debbie released the pressure on my back. I wasted no time flipping over and kicking out at her with my feet. She dodged out of the way, and then pounced on my legs before I could take another shot at her. She tied my ankles together with another piece of thin rope, my struggles slowing her down but not stopping her.

  As she fastened the last knot, I made another effort to inch toward the staircase. Debbie only laughed at the attempt as she held another piece of rope in her hand.

  “You’re persistent,” she said. “But that won’t do you any good.”

  She yanked me closer to the banister’s newel post and looped the last piece of rope through the one tying my wrists together before securing it to the post.

  “I don’t want to see any blood or death throes this time,” she said as she worked. “Too unpleasant. Besides, I like to be creative. Using the same method twice is so unimaginative.”

  Although I had little hope of anyone hearing me, I renewed my calls for help, my throat aching from my efforts.

  “One more thing,” Debbie said as I paused for breath.

  She shut the door to the room with the broken window, lowering the chances of someone outside hearing my shouts. I glared at her as she returned to the top of the stairway, but she was too focused on the watch on her wrist to notice.

  “Time’s short. I need to get moving.”

  I made one last attempt to kick out at her with my bound feet, but I missed. Debbie smirked and made her way down the stairs, leaving me tied to the banister.

  As she disappeared from sight, I fought against the wave of fear and anger that threatened to overwhelm me. If Debbie was short on time, it wouldn’t be long before she returned to finish me off, however she planned to do that. I needed to keep a clear head and find a way to save myself and Jamal.

  I tested my bindings, but they held tight. Slipping free of them didn’t seem to be a viable option. I turned my attention to the banister and pressed my weight against the newel post. Despite the age of the house and its neglect, the post was sturdy and unlikely to give way under any sort of pressure I could exert upon it.

  Turning my head and tipping it back, I looked up at the point where the handrail joined the post. If I could somehow break the connection, I’d be able to free myself from the post by standing up and raising my bound wrists over the top of it. My hands and feet would still be tied up, but at least I’d no longer be secured to the spot.

  I craned my neck to get another look at the point where the handrail and post joined together. As I planned my next move, I heard Debbie moving about on the floor below. A loud scuffing sound made me wonder if she was moving furniture. Then a door slammed and all went quiet.

  I relaxed ever so slightly, hoping she’d left the house, even if only for a short while. Inch by inch, I shifted my way around the post, trying to get in a better position to carry out my plan. I’d made little progress by the time a faint odor of rotten eggs wafted up the stairwell, sending a new and chilling wash of fear over me.

  With the smell came the realization that Debbie had no intention of coming back up to the second floor to finish me off with her own hands. The gas fumes would do the job for her.

  Chapter 28

  Panic closed its choking fist around me. I struggled frantically, trying to wrench myself free of the ropes tying me to the banister. Within seconds I realized that I wasn’t accomplishing anything. I forced myself to draw in a deep breath, and then resumed my counterclockwise progress around the post, stopping once my left leg pressed against the spindles of the banister.

  I shifted my bound hands down the post to the floor and leaned back. Raising my legs, I kicked my feet up at the underside of the handrail. The wood let out a crack of protest, giving me a spark of hope. I kicked at the handrail again, and this time it almost came free of two of the spindles.

  I dropped my feet to the floor, my muscles objecting to my awkward position, but I rested for only a second. The strengthening smell of gas gave me the fuel I needed to push through my pain and discomfort.

  As I kicked at the banister again, I wondered how long I had to free myself. How many minutes did it take for gas fumes to knock someone unconscious? I wasn’t sure, and I wasted no more time thinking about it.

  I put as much strength as I possibly could into my next kick. With a loud crack, the handrail broke free of the newel post.

  I coughed hard and a wave of dizziness hit me. I tried to hold my breath as I rose slowly to my feet, shifting my wrists up the post until they came free. I dropped to my knees and fumbled at the rope around my ankles with my bound hands.

  It was awkward, frustrating work, and I lost another piece of fingernail, but I managed to get the knot undone. I kicked free of the ropes and jumped to my feet. I was tempted to run down the hall to the broken window so I could gulp in some fresh air, but I was too aware of the fact that I was running out of time to help Jamal.

  I hurried down the stairs, dizziness making me bump into the wall every few steps. I wished I had my hands free to steady myself, but there was no way I could get the ropes around my wrists undone. I managed to make it down to the main floor without falling, but the fumes there were even stronger.

  Coughing, I ran down the hall to the kitchen. I stumbled, having trouble seeing clearly. I had to draw in a breath, but that left me gasping, not enough oxygen in the air to satisfy my lungs. I faced away from the gas stove and used my bound hands to twist the knobs, shutting off the gas. Debbie had moved the heavy sideboard in front of the cellar door, and I knew there was no way I could move it in my condition.

  I stumbled toward the back door, my legs having trouble staying beneath me. I was so dizzy and tired that all I wanted to do was lie down, but I knew I’d never get up again if I did that. I threw my weight against the back door and it surprised me by flying open. Fresh air greeted me as I staggered across the porch, gulping in great breaths of oxygen. When I reached the stairs, my legs buckled and I tumbled downward.

  “Are you all right?”

  I looked up from where I’d landed in a heap on the ground. A man loomed over me. I blinked, trying to see him more clearly.

  Del Harris. Nicola stood next to him.

  “Gas fumes,” I managed to say between coughs.

  “Marley!”

  My heart nearly exploded at the sound of the frantic but familiar voice.

  Brett dropped to his knees and tugged at the ropes binding my wrists. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  A coughing fit kept me from answering.

  Del had run up to the porch. “The place is filled with gas fumes.”

  “Jamal,” I said between coughs.

  “Where is he?” Del asked with alarm.

  “Trapped in the cellar.”

  Del dashed into the house.

  My hands free now, Brett lifted me to my feet and pushed me toward Nicola. “Get Marley well away from here,” he instructed her. “And call nine-one
-one!”

  He ran after Del. I wanted to stop him, terrified that he’d succumb to the fumes, but Nicola had my arm in a painfully tight grip and I had to focus all my effort on getting my legs to move as she pulled me along. She used her free hand to dig her phone out of her pocket. She never once slowed down, dragging me quickly across the front yard and down the sidewalk.

  When she got hold of the emergency dispatcher, she finally stopped and I collapsed to the ground. As Nicola spoke into the phone, I rolled onto my back and looked up at the dark clouds racing across the sky. I felt something wet on my cheek and wondered for a moment if I was crying, until I realized that a raindrop had landed on my face.

  “I’m going to warn the neighbors,” I heard Nicola say. “It would only take a spark to send that whole house sky-high.”

  I didn’t know if she was talking to me or the dispatcher.

  My head ached, but my dizziness was slowly subsiding. I carefully got to my feet, determined to go back to the vacant house to find Brett. I’d made it only a few steps when someone grabbed my shoulders and forced me in the other direction.

  “We need to clear the street,” a middle-aged man said to me. “I heard there’s a gas leak.”

  I didn’t waste my breath trying to correct him. He had to be one of the neighbors Nicola had warned. I didn’t want to leave without Brett, but I didn’t have the strength to fight the man who was whisking me off down the sidewalk.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder each second. When we reached the end of the street, my guardian finally released me, and I turned around to see a fire engine arriving on the scene. Concerned residents emerged from their houses, gathering together and talking in worried tones. A group of them moved in front of me, blocking my view.

  I dodged my way through the growing crowd, trying to find my way to the front.

  Where was Brett? Was he still in the house, passed out from the fumes?

  My stomach lurched at the thought.

  I made it to the front of the crowd, only to have a strong hand grab my shoulder from behind.