I folded the blade into the handle and pressed it shut. “No. I want it.” My tone came out whinier than I’d intended. I looked over at him, wondering at my own petulance. “I can have it, can’t I?” I tried to keep my voice normal. “You keep the money and turn it over, but I want to keep this.”
Chip shrugged, dropping his arm. “Sure, you can have it. Now, we’ve got to get this dirt back in place and get out of here.”
I nodded and stood, placing the pocketknife in my jacket pocket, so I wouldn’t get it confused with my switchblade.
I glanced at the mounds of dirt and the huge hole, sighing. My nausea had passed, but I still dreaded the task of shoveling all that dirt, again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Once we started, the shoveling took only a few minutes. Without much trouble, we adjusted the platform back to its original spot and slid the pot over it and into place.
Chip waited on his side of the cauldron as I brushed dirt from my jeans. “We need to make sure we spread the coins out like they were.”
I walked over and stood across from him. “I know.”
In unison, we lifted the cauldron and side-stepped together over to the platform, centering it, then setting it down.
Chip grinned at me. “Y’know, it could have been a lot worse. At least you uncovered his real hand. You might have dug up his prosthetic hook. Think about what kind of a souvenir that would have been.”
The thought of a curved, rusted, metal hook protruding out of the soil sent a shudder through me, bringing on another bout of nausea. I leaned over the lipped opening on the cauldron, trying to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged. “Ugh! What’s wrong with me?”
Chip’s hand fell onto my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, indicating for him not to worry. Just nerves. Instead, I smiled.
Our light flickered, and one of the questionable flashlights suddenly died. The smile froze on my face.
It was the third one to go out in the last hour, but the first one that made a major difference. Now, we were back to the original two penlights, and the details in the chamber were much harder to see.
I looked around for a way out. I could barely see the door frame at the back of the room. “Wait a second.” I rushed over to the door and reached out to turn the knob. Surely it can’t be that easy.
I’d guessed right—it couldn’t be that easy.
I tried to twist the knob, only to meet solid resistance. What’s more, the keyhole faced to the outside. I had nothing to pick. “Shit. I guess we have to go with our original plan.”
I had disliked the original plan and had hoped somehow the chamber door would have a fire lock designed to allow people to exit at will. Of course not. Chip’s casual words from several weeks ago echoed in my head. Perionne hasn’t had a safety commissioner in over five years.
I stared across the islet into blackness. I heard the trickling water, but I could no longer make out the double doors.
Kneeling down, I grabbed one of the penlights and walked along the man-made beach of gritty packaged sand.
I gave Chip’s backpack one last, regretful glance. “I don’t suppose you brought a pair of waders with you?”
“Sorry. They’d never fit.”
“Didn’t think so.”
I looked down at my shoes until I saw the water’s edge, where the moat began.
Squinting off into the distance, I could barely see the double doors, though I had no trouble hearing them strain against the windstorm.
Chip called out. “Be careful. There’s a guardrail that runs underwater the entire length to guide the boats.”
I nodded, stripping off my shoes and socks and handing them to Chip. Then, I rolled my blue jeans up to my knees.
I stood on the shoreline, taking a deep breath and coaxing my courage.
My toes stuck into water cold enough to make me draw in a breath. Trying to ignore that, telling myself this was the only way out, I took my first step into the moat, my bare foot sliding on the slick, algae-covered surface.
My toes pressed against a slimy, metal bar, and my balance shifted forward.
My foot slipped off the metal and sank into mud. “EEEE-yyyyuck!”
I caught myself, though my foot sank mid-shin into mud and slime. I dragged my other foot off the shore and into the water, and then brushed against a small, vertical bar—some sort of support holding the track in place. Again, my balance shifted, and I waved my arms to keep on my feet.
Chip rushed forward, his shoes already off.
I waved him back. “Nope. I’m all right.”
He stood on the shore, watching me, shifting his weight from foot to foot and his arms folded.
With deliberate slowness, I inched toward the double doors, the chilly water sloshing around my calves. I tried to ignore the chattering of my teeth and the part-tingling, part-numbing sensations in my feet and legs. Step by step, the waterline slowly rose, eventually covering my blue jeans until I stood in water up to my waist.
It seemed to take forever before I stood in front of the double doors.
I reached out, pressing my palm flat against the left door. I could feel the vibration of the blowing windstorm through my hand. I pushed.
The door opened a few inches—
—then stuck.
I pressed harder. The door wouldn’t give.
A flash of anger made me see red. “What...the...hell?”
I heard cautious splashing approach from behind me. “What is it?” Chip called.
I stepped forward, aiming the penlight beam through the small gap between the doors. “I’m not sure.” I could just make out something threaded across the opening, hip-height.
Linked metal.
“Shit!” I slapped my hand against the wood, sending a tremendous boom echoing around the chamber. “It’s chained.”
“What?”
“The door! They wrapped a chain around the handles from the outside. I can’t get to it.”
Chip stood at my side, watching me with a worried expression. “You have to be able to get to it.”
I sighed. “What do you expect me to do? Detach my arms and stick them through?”
“Well, how far does it open?” A hint of mild annoyance entered Chip’s voice.
I shoved against the left side with both palms. The gap opened about eight inches, and then caught.
Wind kicked up in my face. Buffeting turbulence made both my arms vibrate from the strain. After a few seconds, I eased the pressure, and the gap closed. “That far.”
He bent his head toward the gap. “Hmmm. Well, maybe we can slip under it.” With that, he pressed the one side open as far as it would go, then wiggled into the gap, head-first.
As he forced his head through the opening, I grew anxious. The wood dug at his ears, and I winced. To his credit, he shoved forward.
Only after he’d locked his head in the gap between the doors did it become apparent that his shoulders were too wide to fit through the opening. “There’s no way I can do it.”
I braced the door so he could pull his head back. “Here, get out of there.”
I placed one hand on each of the doors and pushed against them with all my might. I estimated a total clearance of about 14 inches, if someone forced the doors open and held them for me. “Okay...I think I can make it, but I need your help.”
I linked my hands together, stirrup-style, and held them down at thigh level, demonstrating. “Do that.”
Chip looked at me, then at the door, then back.
“You think you can make it over?”
I nodded. “Gotta be safer than trying to swim under, and I’ll have a much easier time than you.”
Chip shook his head and linked his fingers. “Famous last words.”
“You ready?” I pinched the penlight between my teeth.
He bent his knees, waiting. “Okay.”
Once more, I pressed against the doors, shoving them as far apart as possible. The
wind created a resistance.
I braced my legs, steeling my courage.
I stepped up with my right leg, grimacing at the stiffness from my bruises, and pressed my bare foot into Chip’s hands.
I jumped; he lifted.
I sailed up into the air.
Chip propelled me four feet off the ground. Gravity reasserted itself. I was above the chain, but still on the wrong side of the opening. Reflex took over, and I kicked out with my left foot, slipping it between the doors.
My foot came down onto the chain.
My own weight forced the doors together on my leg.
I flailed with my hands, grabbing the sides of the door to catch my balance, but the gap closed over my foot.
The door shifted and widened.
I realized Chip had diverted his attention to holding the doors open. I grunted approval and wrapped my fingers around the edges of the doors.
I shoved forward; my head squeezing through the opening. I willed my body to come through after it.
No luck.
After a little push and pull, I wedged my shoulder through the gap.
Brisk, chilly October wind buffeted my face, stinging my eyes. The doors tightened, like a clap, against my chest and back.
The wood pressed tight, digging into my sternum. I clawed my nails against the wood, but I couldn’t push myself forward.
I pulled. I pulled again, to no avail.
Sweat dripped from my brow and into my face. I ached with the need to draw a deep breath.
I reached up, taking the penlight from my mouth, then grunted, “Shit!” Somehow, the profanity made me feel a little better.
Chip’s voice reached me from within the chamber. “Blue, are you okay?”
I spat. “Fuck you.”
“What was that?”
I drew a shallow breath—since it was all I could manage—ticking off in my head a mental count to three.
I pressed against the outside of the door with my arm, willing my other shoulder to come through behind me.
The door scraped against my right breast and shoulder blade. Flaring waves of hot pain burned over my chest. I kicked and pulled, trying to ignore it, shutting my eyes to the wind.
I yanked one last time, then pushed with all my strength. My grunt turned into a growl.
My shoulder popped through the opening—with a momentum that pitched me out over the water and into a backward plunge.
I flailed my arms and legs, shrieking the whole way down, making a tremendous, thrashing splash into the muddy pit.
I gasped on impact. A fresh, unexpected burst of pain shot through my upper thigh. I doubled over, trying to cry out, but could only gurgle water.
I crawled up on all fours, spitting rancid water and blistering obscenities.
I struggled to my feet, knowing that if there was anyone, anywhere, in the park, they had to have heard me.
Chip called out from behind the doors. “Blue?”
I took a first step forward, opening my mouth to reply, but stumbled over something metal and screeched.
“Blue? Are you okay?”
I cleared the distance in a single hop before my strength gave out. I collapsed against the double doors, realizing in a detached way that I’d closed the gap on Chip and shut him in. My feet, previously numb from the extreme cold, now hummed with the fresh agony.
“Blue, it’s awfully dark in here. There’s only one flashlight.”
Panting, I braced myself against the double doors. I snarled between chattering teeth. “Chip...darling, sweetheart...will you shut the fuck up for a minute?!”
My legs gave out, and I leaned against the door, panting heavily and listening to the sweet, blessed silence.
I brought my hand up to cover my mouth and sobbed, shaking from pain and cold. Gradually, the worst of the throbbing faded, and I gulped back my tears.
I wiped my hands over my face and back over my now-slicked hair. Twenty pounds of denim hung heavily over my shoulders. I knew standing in the water would cause my bleak situation to grow even worse, but I struggled to clear my mind and force my abused body to move. I brought the penlight up to examine the chain.
At what point did they attach this? I recalled being in the cauldron, music blaring, water gurgling—the attendants could have attached it at any time prior to turning off the soundtrack tape, and chances are, we would not have heard it from inside.
The chain wrapped around the handles of the double doors and hung loose—a fairly standard padlock holding it in place. Standard chain, standard lock. This was not high security stuff, but then, why should it be?
The distance from shore to shore stretched across about 20 feet. Finding a good-size piece of sturdy board to straddle the moat would be a simple enough task
From out of nowhere, the wind kicked up again. A blast of cold blanketed my body.
Then, just as fast, the wind stopped.
I clamped my chattering teeth shut. Now after midnight, the temperature had probably plummeted to around 40 degrees. As far as I was concerned, it was 15.
I wondered why Chip hadn’t called out from behind the doors. Then, I remembered I’d frightened the hell out of him.
I reached out, gingerly tapping my knuckles against the wooden door. “Chip...darling...I’m sorry I lost it like that.” My voice trembled as I forced words between my shaking lips. “I’m going to attempt to pick the padlock. I don’t want you to be concerned, but if this doesn’t go smoothly, you’re going to have to talk me into not leaving you here until morning.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Can’t talk now.” I put the flashlight in my mouth.
“Blue, that’s not very damn funny!”
I reached up, pulling the two bobby pins from my hair, and got to work.
A strong wind buffeted me, making my hands shake and my teeth vibrate all the more. I had to bite down on the light.
A whisper traveled on the wind. Bluuuuuuue...
I almost dropped the pins.
Chip called out. “Blue, it’s dark. Hurry up.”
I locked the first pin into place.
Return the money, Blue. You can’t keep it.
That wasn’t Chip, and it came from this side of the door.
I grabbed the penlight from my mouth and pivoted, flashing the beam over the surrounding trees and bushes.
“Who’s there?” I called.
A taunting burst of wind cut through me to the bone.
I won’t let you keep it...
I strained to listen, but I could only hear wind in the hollows of the trees.
I’d heard words.
No, I didn’t hear words. I’m creeping myself out.
Shaking my head, I bent back to my work.
This time I heard laughter—an evil cackle that caused my hands to tremble.
I paused, fighting down nausea and panic.
Git your own, matey! This be mine.
I shook my head. Now, I’m hearing the pirate. I took a breath and twisted the wires.
The lock snapped open.
I pulled at the chain. No sooner had I untangled it from the handles than the doors swung open, pushed from the inside.
I stepped back. “Chip!”
He stepped forward, the backpack slung over one shoulder and holding the moneybag in his free hand. His arms wrapped around me into a hug I could barely feel through the freezing denim. “Are you all right?” His face changed to a look of alarm. “You’re freezing to death.”
I let him guide me out of the water and onto dry land. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Everything got so out of control, and I spooked myself.”
He dropped the bags, and—to my surprise—produced an oversized towel from the backpack.
I stepped into his clasping embrace, letting him enfold and cocoon me in the billowy, cotton softness.
I shivered and babbled nonsense apologies, burying my face in his chest.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to get you home and into s
ome dry clothes.”
I nodded against his chest. “Yes...home.”
Everything will be fine, then.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chip returned into the drink and reattached the lock. Through the entire affair, he’d stayed dry from the waist up. I just sat in the grass and pulled the towel tightly against me.
The chills aside, scaling the fence and getting out of the park proved far easier than getting out of the ride. It wasn’t as if they surrounded the park with barbed wire. We scaled a tall, metal fence made of small, vertical and horizontal squares. The biggest trick involved pulling ourselves over the top without getting injured on the speared points of the fence poles.
Once on the other side, no longer concerned with secrecy, we cut through a couple of yards to save time. Even wrapped in the towel, the cold drove me to move at a fast pace.
Several blocks from home, a sudden gust of wind kicked up, blowing over us. The gust penetrated my soaked clothes with a cutting-ice impact of burning intensity.
I froze in my tracks; my breath having escaped my lungs.
In the distance, I heard a wicked cackle.
Chip’s arm fell across my trembling shoulders. The shadow of a warm rush coursed through my chilled body, and I gazed at him in thankful relief. He returned my look with one of intense concern.
In his other hand, he hefted the moneybag. “We did it, Blue. All we have to do now is get somewhere safe and call the police. Then, this will all be over.”
I nodded, leaning against him. We stumbled together along the sidewalk, surrounded by the elegant, one- and two-story houses of suburban Perionne, heading toward my house—the closest by half the distance.
Chip wanted to secure the treasure and turn it in as soon as possible. Waking Mom at one in the morning had its consequences, and I wondered if our newfound closeness could stand the disruption. The unbearable cold forced the issue, and so we headed toward my house without any need for discussion.
I huddled against his inadequate warmth. Ominous, thick trees loomed in every yard, draping us in shadow. I kept ducking under bent branches, which seemed to reach out for us from the front lawns.
Dead leaves crunched under our feet. Reaching branches hid the moonlight, and coal-black darkness surrounded us. A sudden gust kicked up a tornado of brownish leaf bits.
Haunting Blue Page 21
