Scared to Death

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “I told you, he’s in a coma, on a respirator. I can’t—”

  “No, I know,” Brett says quickly, guiltily. “Forget it. It’s not important.”

  But it is important.

  Just last night, Mike promised to figure out where that Spider-Man figurine came from. Why hadn’t he mentioned he was going away this morning?

  Was it a sudden decision?

  Or…

  Could the trip have had something to do with the case?

  With a burst of adrenaline, Elsa grabs her daughter by the arm and drags her out of the kitchen.

  Renny starts to cry out in protest.

  “Shh, no! No!” Elsa grabs her by the shoulders. “I know this doesn’t make sense, Renny, but just do what I say right now, please. Okay?”

  At her frightened nod, Elsa releases her and turns to see if there’s any sign of an intruder.

  The menacing presence seems as blatant as the gaping hole in the knife block, yet the long hallway is deserted.

  Could she have imagined that a handle was missing? Fear does strange things to a person…

  Or maybe it was missing all along, and she just thought she saw all the knives accounted for when she checked earlier…

  Am I losing my mind?

  Maybe it’s crazy to acknowledge—even to herself—that she might be seeing things. But is that any crazier than assuming someone is creeping around the apartment, armed with a kitchen knife, like a murderous maniac from a horror movie?

  Renny tugs her arm, and Elsa glances down to see that her face is etched in worry.

  I can’t take any chances. I’ve got to get her out of here.

  Motioning with her forefinger against her lips, Elsa pulls Renny into the dining room, past the Baroque dining set and antique sideboard. She keeps an eye on the drawn gold brocade draperies at the windows for any sign of movement.

  All is still. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t being watched from a gap in the curtains, or…or a crevice in the wall, or around a doorway…

  Why, oh why, didn’t Elsa think to grab one of the knives before she left the kitchen? Now she’s utterly defenseless; the door might as well be on the far side of a crocodile moat.

  Incredibly, Renny is cooperating. Does she realize their lives are hanging in the balance?

  Or is she merely humoring Elsa, thinking she’s gone off the deep end like her schizophrenic birth mother?

  I’ll explain everything to her later—as soon as I get her out of here.

  Moving in absolute silence, they make it to the large, circular living room. The elaborate decor creates plenty of potential hiding places. Still, no hint of anyone lurking as they tiptoe across the carpet. Elsa keeps an eye on the French doors, where the wrought-iron Juliet balcony extends off to either side, beyond her view. What if someone is lurking there?

  Then he can’t see me, either.

  Step by stealthy step, they cover the home stretch.

  In the foyer, acutely aware of the closed closet door and the shadowy recess beside the armoire, Elsa reminds herself again that slow and steady is the only way to escape with Renny. Her instinct is to get the hell out of here; if she were alone, she’d make a run for it. But she can’t do that with Renny. She has no choice.

  Inch by inch, they make their way across the her-ringbone hardwoods. The apartment is silent but for the sound of the ticking clock and the humming refrigerator.

  Holding her breath, Elsa reaches for the doorknob. Painstakingly, she turns it, pulls it open, bracing herself for the attack from behind.

  When it doesn’t come—when she finds herself crossing the threshold into the hall with Renny—it’s all she can do not to collapse in relief. She leaves the door ajar, just as she found it, afraid the sound of it closing might alert the person who’s lurking in the apartment—if, indeed, anyone is really there.

  “Mommy,” Renny whispers, “what—”

  “Shh, sweetie, we just have to get out of here, and then I’ll explain.”

  Oh, you will? What are you going to tell her? That you’re afraid someone wants to kill you, or her? That this was meant to be a refuge, but we aren’t safe here? That we aren’t safe anywhere?

  If they manage to get out of here in one piece, what next? Should she call the police?

  She reaches into her pocket for her phone, just in case…

  But it’s not there.

  What the…? She knows she had it earlier. She was going to call 911, right before—

  Oh. She must have dropped it in the kitchen when she saw that the knife was missing.

  The knife…

  She can’t go back for the phone. It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is getting Renny out of here.

  Please, God, let us get out of here…

  The wide, deserted hallway stretches ahead of them. Short corridors branch off in several spots. There’s an ancient stairwell no one ever uses—for all she knows, it might be locked or blocked off once they get inside.

  No. Not worth the risk. They pass the stairwell, the garbage chute, the door to a utility room.

  Just ahead looms a shallow recess that holds a fire extinguisher and enough room for someone to hide, flat against the wall.

  But the danger lies behind them, Elsa reminds herself—not ahead.

  Still, her chest aches with tension as they pass it and round the corner. No one follows; no one jumps out at them, yet she won’t breathe easily until they’re outside.

  Not even then. Not until you know what you’re dealing with, and why, and who…

  Stop. Just focus. One thing at a time.

  Ahead, the door to the main elevator bank and stairs beckons like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. She hustles Renny toward it, her brain ping-ponging between escape route options.

  Stairs or elevator?

  Stairs or elevator?

  Stairs…

  No. They’d be out in the open, easily spotted descending the stairwell from anyone on a landing above.

  Once they got into an elevator, though, they’d be safe—as long as it showed up in a hurry. There are six of them; the odds are good. They’ll take the elevator.

  She pushes through the door and heaves a sigh of relief that they’ve made it this far.

  She’s about to press the down button when her daughter speaks for the first time.

  “No!”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Oh—oh no. Renny shrinks back, staring fearfully at the elevator doors.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. Please, Renny…” Elsa jams her palm down hard on the button, repeatedly, and hears an elevator lurching up from below.

  “No!”

  “Shh! You have to.” It’s all Elsa can do to speak over the awful lump in her own throat. “We need to get out of here, and I promise it’s going to be okay.”

  The doors glide open; the elevator is empty. She reaches for Renny, pulls her inside, and hesitates, thoughts careening again.

  Lobby or ground floor?

  Lobby or ground floor?

  The security desk is right in the lobby—along with creepy Tom.

  There’s a service entrance in the basement, along with the door to the adjacent parking garage. They’ll sneak out one way or another, and once they’re on the street, she can figure out where to go next.

  Elsa presses the ground floor button. The doors start to close.

  Relieved, Elsa leans back her head, closes her eyes, and at last breathes a sigh of relief.

  With an anguished cry and a fierce lurch of her little body, Renny wrenches herself free of Elsa’s grasp. She throws herself back out through the elevator doors at the last second before they slide closed.

  In a panic, Elsa presses the door open button, but it’s too late. The descent is under way, and she’s helplessly trapped inside without her daughter.

  “Is there anything I can do from here?” Brett asks Mike’s friend Joe.

  “Do you pray?”

 
Brett hesitates, remembering all the years he’d gone faithfully to church—and all the years he hadn’t.

  He and Elsa were married at St. Mary’s, the parish where he’d been christened, confirmed, served as an altar boy, and eventually cried at his parents’ funerals.

  “Will you accept children lovingly from God?” Father Nolan asked solemnly during the wedding ceremony. Brett and Elsa vowed that they would.

  And they did. They accepted Jeremy lovingly from God—by way of the foster care agency back in Boston—and they did their best to make him their own. Brett even took him to church a couple of times, thinking it might be good for both of them.

  Looking back, he remembers the disapproving glances from other parishioners and his own discomfort over Jeremy’s behavior more than he remembers anything spiritually positive.

  He thinks about what Jeremy did to the Montgomery girl, and of Jeremy’s disappearance, and how he finally stopped going to church for good when his prayers weren’t answered.

  Then he thinks about Elsa, who tried to kill herself, and Renny, so close to becoming their daughter…

  “Yeah,” he tells Joe. “I pray.”

  “Then pray for Mikey. That’s all anyone can do.”

  Elsa keeps pressing buttons, but the elevator descends to the ground floor without stopping.

  Trapped inside, on the verge of panic, she flashes back to the first moments after she realized Jeremy was missing from the backyard.

  She remembers running back into the house, thinking he might have gotten past her and was safely inside; screaming his name; racing back outside, combing the yard, the block, a nearby field…

  Later, years later, she wondered if her own terror had precluded her from getting to Jeremy while there was still time. If she’d only stayed calm; if she’d called the police right away; if she hadn’t been hysterical…

  Yes. She blamed herself. All these years, she’s blamed herself.

  And the same familiar firestorm of panic is sweeping toward her now.

  Yet she’s helpless, trapped; there’s nothing to do but wait for the elevator to hit bottom.

  The second it does, she jabs the button for her mother’s floor.

  The elevator begins the excruciating ascent and Elsa prays it won’t stop along the way, prays Renny will be right where she left her.

  Of course she will. Where else would she go? She’d know I’m coming back for her.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Yes. She’d know I wouldn’t just abandon her, ever.

  But what if he gets to her first?

  What if…?

  At last, at last, the elevator bumps to a stop. The doors begin to open. Elsa springs through the opening the moment it’s wide enough.

  Renny is gone.

  It’s all she can do not to collapse in despair, or shout her daughter’s name.

  No. Don’t. Stay focused.

  Think. Think…

  Would Renny have left of her own accord? Or did someone grab her?

  Dizzy with fear, Elsa rushes over to the wrought-iron railing and leans over, scanning the vast stairwell for Renny.

  No sign of her daughter below, or above, either.

  Again reliving the nightmare of Jeremy’s disappearance, Elsa runs blindly back along the corridor.

  She tries to reassure herself exactly as she did on that awful day fifteen years ago—that her child is simply hiding, or lost; that nothing bad can happen to someone who’s already endured so much pain in a short lifetime.

  But it did, and Jeremy is dead, and now Renny…

  “Renny!” she calls recklessly, no longer in control of her instincts.

  She races around the corner, retracing the path to her mother’s apartment. The door is still ajar.

  Did Renny go back inside?

  Was someone waiting for her there?

  Would she have left the door standing open exactly as Elsa had?

  Without a thought to her own safety, Elsa dashes inside, dizzy with fear, calling her daughter’s name.

  It takes her a minute of frantic searching, maybe less, to determine that the apartment is empty—just as the house and the yard were fifteen years ago.

  Back in the round entryway, she grasps the edge of an antique table as the world seems to spin around her like a carnival ride.

  “Renny! Oh God, Renny, where are you?”

  She’s gone.

  Gone.

  At last, the bottom drops out and Elsa falls to her knees.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Driving down the Saw Mill River Parkway, Marin can’t stop thinking about Lauren’s daughter, Lucy. A pretty, wholesome-looking brunette, she’s really got her act together.

  Not that Caroline doesn’t, in her own way…

  Yet Marin can’t help comparing the two—especially when she remembers Lucy’s polite response when Lauren introduced her; the way she managed to put Marin herself at ease. Whether or not her warmth was genuine—though Marin sensed that it was—Lucy sure sailed through the potentially awkward moment with grace.

  No way would Caroline display that level of maturity under those particular circumstances. No, she’s always put her own needs first, just as Garvey did.

  It’s easy to blame him for Caroline’s character flaws—after all, he spoiled her rotten.

  But I’m her mother. Aren’t I partly responsible, too?

  Marin’s always told herself that she could love Annie enough to make up for the way Garvey treated her—but what about Caroline? Did she love Caroline enough?

  Or did she resent her for being the center of Garvey’s world—or for being so sick that—

  No. Absolutely not. I’m her mother. Of course I love her enough.

  Yes, Caroline possesses some of her father’s more disagreeable personality traits: she’s self-centered, sarcastic, and can be mean-spirited. But, like him, she’s also charming, and quick-witted, and brilliant.

  She’ll probably turn out to be just fine, Marin assures herself.

  So what? Everyone has faults. Why, all of a sudden, are you dwelling on Caroline’s?

  She knows exactly why. That thing yesterday, with the rat—it’s been in the back of Marin’s mind all day. What if…?

  No. She would never, ever do that.

  And yet…Caroline thrives on attention. She always got plenty of it from Garvey. With him gone, she’s taken the histrionics to a whole new level. The way she pitched a tantrum the other day over family photos, accusing Marin of burning them…

  I couldn’t even listen to her. I turned around and walked away from her in mid-tirade.

  And yesterday, when the girls were fighting—Marin chose to ignore that, as well. Numb. That’s it—she’s been numb for so long, ignoring, denying, overlooking, overmedicating…

  How far would Caroline go for her attention?

  Did she make up the bizarre story about the rat?

  Did she send the text message herself, so that Marin wouldn’t doubt her?

  She sighs, staring bleakly through the windshield as the wipers sweep the rain from side to side.

  Maybe I should have called her on it last night.

  But I will. I’ll talk to her as soon as I get home.

  Crumpled on the herringbone floor in her mother’s foyer, head buried in her arms, Elsa tells herself that as bad as it seems, she can’t give in to tears now. That won’t do Renny any good.

  “Mommy?”

  Hearing her daughter’s voice, Elsa lurches upright, praying it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her.

  No—it’s Renny!

  She’s standing in the doorway of the apartment.

  About to cry out in relief, Elsa realizes that someone is standing behind the little girl.

  It’s Tom the doorman, his hand firmly planted on her shoulder.

  Lauren’s knock on Lucy’s bedroom door is greeted by a gruff “Ryan, I told you, I don’t know where it is, so stop bugging me!”

  “It’s not Ryan.” Lauren pushes the door o
pen a crack. “What did he lose this time? His phone? His wallet? His iPod—again?”

  Lucy, sitting at her desk in front of an open notebook, shakes her head. “I told him I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Either your sibling loyalty has done a major about-face, or you’re blackmailing him to keep quiet.”

  Seeing the look on Lucy’s face, she wonders why—then realizes the blunder. Blackmail? You idiot.

  Blackmail was what triggered Garvey Quinn’s heinous plot last summer.

  “Stupid thing to say. I’m sorry, Lucy. You know I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay.”

  Someday, Lauren hopes as she crosses her daughter’s bedroom, this whole thing might really be behind them once and for all, and they’ll never have to worry about stirring up painful memories.

  But somehow, she doubts it.

  One man’s evil has scarred so many innocent people for life: Lauren and her children, Marin and hers, the Cavalon family, even Sam…

  All of them are forced to live with the fallout.

  Live…that’s the key word, Lauren reminds herself. It could have been so much worse.

  She looks down at her daughter. “I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of the way you handled yourself when you met Marin Quinn.”

  “Oh…yeah. Well, what did you expect me to do? And, I mean…it wasn’t her fault, right? What her bastard husband did?”

  Ordinarily, Lauren would reprimand her for using bad language. In this case, it’s well deserved. In fact, nothing she can think of is strong enough for Garvey Quinn.

  “No,” she tells Lucy, “it wasn’t Marin’s fault.”

  “She seemed nice. But nervous.”

  “Yes.” Nervous, and frightened, and dangerously fragile…

  “Is she okay, Mom?”

  “I hope so, Lucy. I really do.”

  Garvey Quinn has claimed enough victims.

  Please, God, don’t let there be any more.

  As Elsa stares at the uniformed stranger behind Renny, her thoughts race from one wild scenario to another.

  Is he armed?

  Has he taken Renny hostage?

  Does he want something in return for her release?