Chapter 22
The first thing Evan noticed as he pulled into the driveway was that the front door was wide open. “Okay, now this is getting ridiculous,” he said as he parked the minivan. “Josh has got to learn that doors close once he’s through them.”
“Evan, he’s been working on it.”
“Not hard enough, apparently. You’d think after surviving a break-in he’d learn, but…”
The sound of Rachel sighing filled the van. “Let’s get unpacked first, then work on the memory lessons, huh?”
“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass, but it’s freezing out here. Who knows how much heat’s gone through that door?” Evan sighed. “Some days…”
“Evan. ‘Childlike tendencies’, remember? You knew what you signed up for when his folks asked if we’d rent to him.”
“I know. Five years, nine renters, and Josh is probably the most taxing one we’ve had since I’ve been here. What makes it worse is he’s not really trying to annoy people or forget things. He’s a sweet kid.” Evan grabbed his overnight bag out of the middle seats, making sure the doors closed tightly before heading up to the open door. “I think that’s what keeps us from tearing our hair out, mostly.”
“Mostly. He’s like that in class too. I’ve had people need to go for walks to stop from punching his lights out or cussing him out. There’re days I’ve had to, and I live with him by choice!”
The pair walked into the front hall, now frigid with the lack of heat. “Josh!” Evan called up the stairs. “Josh, get down here—we need to talk about this leaving doors open thing.”
“Remy? Sam?” Rachel called out, noticing Sam’s cane and three different winter coats belonging to her tenants near the door. The house was too quiet. The sounds of birds sang through the cold, late morning air, a little too loudly from their vantage point. She turned into the kitchen. “Evan!” she screamed, sending the man racing from upstairs into the room.
“Oh, my God,” he said, his eyes fluttering over the scene before him. Pots and pans were scattered over the floor like shells at a beach. In the kitchen, broken glass was scattered from end to end. The contents of the bar table lay everywhere but the table—paper plates, silverware, sealed envelopes containing junk mail, books, and what remained of the salt and pepper shakers.
“Remy?! Sam?! Josh?!” Rachel called through the house in earnest. Together, they searched the entire premises, looking for any sign of their charges. All of the beds were made, all of the medicines were in the bathroom cupboard, and there didn’t look to be clothes missing from their closets.
“I’m calling the police,” Rachel said, her heart racing. She reached for her phone when Evan stopped her. “What the hell?”
“Rachel, the cops are gonna tell you that you have to wait twenty-four hours before you can file a report, given that they are legally adults. I’d say call them, but it’s what we’re going to be told.”
“Evan, I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.”
“We’ll call Jesse Baker,” he said. “He could give the place the once over, have the information ready for when we can file. There’s always the chance they just left and planned to come back.”
“Not like this.” Rachel swept her hands around the destroyed kitchen. “They would not leave this.”
“No, they wouldn’t. I’ll get on the phone with everyone we know. Someone had to have seen them, right?”
Rachel didn’t answer. “Jesse? It’s Rachel,” she said into her phone. “Can you come down here right away? We can’t find the kids. I…I think something’s seriously wrong.”
* * *
A chill worked its way up Sam’s back. He tried to fight the shiver as he pressed against the cold, gritty concrete wall he’d barely moved from upon arriving. Above him, he could make out footsteps pacing back and forth, going to and from whatever was trapping them inside the closed space. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around himself in an effort to stay warm, but the strong plastic zip tie securing his hands in front of him prevented it. To the left of Sam came a strong smell, one that grew exponentially whenever a door creaked open. He tried in vain not to have to go through that particular opening, and nearly gagged the one time he couldn’t avoid it.
“I’m starving,” came an unnaturally thin voice. To his right, Sam knew Josh had been curled up much the same way he was, bound helplessly in the same manner. A chatter had filled the room at one point, and finally Remy had hissed at the younger man to keep quiet. After that, only the sound of breathing had emanated from that spot.
“Well, do you see anything to eat, genius?” Remy snapped. To his immediate left, Remy had been fuming over the lack of choices offered them in the moments leading up to their abduction. Sam knew that the feeling of helplessness grated on him, and the more Remy thought about it the more furious he got. Sam hoped that his friend could keep it together and not go into a screaming fit. The worst-case scenario was Remy going into a complete meltdown where the second-generation Cajun transplant would close himself off and refuse to speak or even acknowledge anyone around him. Those kinds of meltdowns usually occurred whenever Remy’s awful uncle came around, and it was little wonder why. “I’m hungry too. Don’t hear me complaining about it.”
“How…how long have we been here?” Sam wondered softly. His watch had been broken trying to escape from the van they’d been transported in, and a fresh bruise on his shoulder blade made him wince whenever it struck the grainy cement.
“No clue. There’re no windows, so I can’t even tell by the sun,” Remy offered. His voice was still sharp, but it was beginning to temper. “The two lights we have are hanging from the ceiling. Or floor. Whatever.”
Sam’s nose detected a faint clean smell. “There’s water in here,” he said.
“Where?” Josh asked, his voice still small.
“To the right, in front of you, Josh.” Sam struggled to get up, not having his hands to push himself up from the cold floor or his cane to guide him. He took slow steps, clicking his tongue every so often to gauge the dimensions of the room. Nine steps in, and he found the doorway to the right. He turned in, and the watery smell grew stronger. “There’s a room here,” Sam said, his voice muffled by the walls. He clicked his tongue again, picking up his bound hands to feel his way around the mostly enclosed space within their dungeon. The rough texture of plywood and drywall brushed against them, and Sam followed the walls around the space, noting that there was a long, large plastic container against the length of the room. “Guys, come here!”
Soft footsteps came closer, followed shortly by shuffled ones. “What?” Remy said, his voice now full of wonder. “It’s dark in here. I can’t see.”
“There’s a long plastic container, here, next to this cement wall,” Sam said. “Help me find the opening. I think there’s water in there.”
“Water?” Josh asked. Soon the shuffled footsteps came even closer, and Sam could hear hands tapping the plastic in front of him. “I found something!” he half whispered, trying to keep his voice down. Josh remembered the Southern man’s warning about following rules, and he was determined not to mess up.
“What?” Remy asked. He too was searching the unseen container, tracing his fingers around the edges of the giant box looking for a hinge or a pull to identify a door of some kind. “What is it?”
“A…a padlock,” Josh said, his voice laced with defeat. “It’s locked.”
“Son of a bitch,” Remy hissed, feeling as though he’d been kicked. He was dying for a glass of water—there was no source of water anywhere except in the reeking closet, and there was no way he was even attempting to drink any of that. “Hey!” he shouted, raising his head toward the ceiling above him. “If you’re planning on killing us, just do it already! Quit screwing around, huh?!”
“Remy!” Sam admonished. “You want one of us to…?”
“Does it matter, Sam? Really? I mean, look where we are! No light, no food, and the only water we can
get at will kill us if we drink it. There’s good water not three feet from us, but we can’t get at it, so it might as well be a thousand miles away!” Anger rolled off Remy in waves. He remembered several times when he had been ravenous and forbidden to eat anything in the kitchen lest he incur the wrath of his drunken, selfish uncle. The mere thought of the times he’d woken up with painful bruises because he’d stolen a cracker or a piece of bread to keep from starving to death was enough to send the young man reeling with repressed emotion.
“I live in the dark, Remy. Every day. I’ll die in it, too. But I still have a life. I don’t want to die here.”
“We…we’re gonna die?” Josh squeaked. Sam could feel the fear radiating from the younger man.
“If we don’t eat soon, or get a glass of water, we will,” Remy said matter-of-factly. “It’s the truth, Sam. You asked me how long we’ve been here? I’m not sure. Likely over a day though.”
“A whole day?” Josh asked. “Isn’t…isn’t anyone looking for us?”
“Miss Rachel and Evan are,” Sam reassured him, taking some comfort for himself in the thought. “They wouldn’t just let us…”
“No, you’re right. They wouldn’t. Not if they knew something had happened,” Remy agreed, his anger starting to lessen. “Considering the mess we left, I’m sure they’re doing something to find us.”
“I hope so,” Josh whispered. “I wanna go home.”
The sound of footsteps grew louder above them, and they stopped at the point where they knew there was a door leading upstairs toward freedom. A few tries on it from Remy during the first few minutes of their imprisonment told them everything—not only was it incredibly solid, it was strong too. A crossbar held it in place, preventing the door from opening outward.
“They’re coming,” Josh said, his voice audible only to Sam. Steeling himself, Sam straightened up, planning to tackle the challenge in front of him as bravely as he could.
Chapter 23
The last of the provisions had been gone through, and Riley had left to get more. “I want some real food, not more boxed crap,” he had declared shortly before leaving. “Any requests?”
“Take a steak, I would,” Charlie said, putting his paper plate in the garbage bag standing in the middle of the linoleum floor. The log walls around them made the sight of the newer floor a little jarring. “And some real potatoes!”
“Make that two,” Dayton replied. “And some ice cream. Just not that butter pecan crap.” He was high on weed, despite how much he despised smoking. It was the cheapest high he could get his hands on, and he needed the pick-me-up. He fished a few bills from his wallet. “That ought to cover it.”
“Anything else?”
Dayton thought a minute. “Yeah,” he said. “One of those burner phones. Cheap, you know? Need something to do business with.” He handed over a fifty. “Real cheap, understand?”
“I got it, I got it.” The door slammed, and an engine turned over and the van pulled out.
“How long you plannin’ to keep our ‘guests’ down there?” Charlie asked.
“Why?”
“Well, if you’re plannin’ on havin’ fun with ’em, you’d better feed ’em. Not gonna be much fun to you if they ain’t gettin’ up.” The water ran in the sink, and the clink of dishes rattled in the plastic tub they planned to use for the purpose. “Don’t like bugs,” Charlie had said when they’d gotten the tub at his insistence. “Not havin’ no bugs around, understand?”
A thought crossed the Southerner’s mind. “We got anything left?”
“Half a giant submarine, a beer, and two slices of pizza. And they ain’t gettin the beer.”
“Or the pizza. I’m starving.” Bony hands grabbed the plate out of the refrigerator and shoved a slice into Dayton’s mouth. It tasted like cardboard, but he didn’t care.
“You keep smokin’ weed, you’ll eat the whole operation out. Lay off, huh?”
“What I really need is a good pill. Maybe one of those Adderalls.”
“You ain’t shovin’ the money up your nose, pal. Stick with the weed.” Charlie wasn’t fussy about how his employer got his high, but he was concerned with how much money was in his cut at the end. Privately, Charlie knew he could snap the little shit like a twig if he chose, but detailed planning had never been his strong suit, or Riley’s. For the time being, the Southerner was calling ninety percent of the shots.
“I am well aware of your concerns.” Dayton finished off the pizza, then picked up the large sandwich. “Let’s go. Grab one of those plastic cups, will you?”
Charlie got the item in question, a tall pink number with ridged sides. The pair headed for the basement door, Dayton struggling with the crossbar holding the door in place. The new staircase squeaked as they came down, and a quick glance around much of the small concrete space told them everything. “Come out, come out,” he catcalled, chuckling a little at his own joke. “Else I’ll let the rats eat instead of you.”
“Rats?” a thin voice squeaked.
“Shut up!” another admonished. “Whoa…”
“Sam, there’s the wall. Hang on to that,” a third instructed. “Josh! Watch out!”
“Sorry…”
The pair turned and headed into the little partitioned room, the one with the giant plastic trough of water inside. It was padlocked shut, and Dayton had the only key. “Well, there you are,” he said, rounding on the three unwilling guests. “Comfortable?”
“What the hell do you want?” the thin older kid snapped, standing in front of his friends. The room had no light in it, and what flooded in from the small hanging bulbs in the main area only showed a set of deep blue eyes, a long face, and long dirty blond hair pulled into a nearly destroyed ponytail.
“Remy!” the taller kid hissed, leaning heavily against plywood and drywall. His clouded eyes shone nearly white, and it creeped Dayton out to look at them. Next to him, the smallest of the three stood absolutely silent, save for a few frightened whimpers.
“I’d think twice about making demands, boy,” Dayton told the eldest guest. “Or I might take this back upstairs,” He held up the half submarine, the edges visible in the dim light.
Three stomachs growled pitiably, but the one called Remy didn’t budge an inch. Charlie stood guard at the room’s entrance, stray beams of light glinting off the large knife he held in his hand, as Dayton casually walked his way toward the plastic container full of water. “Expect you’ve figured out it’s locked,” he said. “Means you’ll have to play nice.”
“What…what do you mean?” White Eyes said.
“I mean, you can come over and take a drink when I say so. Now, you want one or not?”
The little one edged closer. “Y-yes, please.”
“See? Play nice.” Dayton filled the cup and handed it to the kid, a little spilling out onto the floor. “Don’t waste it, though,” he mocked. “Means less for your friends come their turn.”
The cup was quickly drained, and small hands clutched it like a lifeline. “Can…can I have some more?” the kid asked, his voice halting.
“Don’t get greedy. Give it up.”
“Please?” Two bright eyes shone at him like pebbles off a beach.
“No. Next one.” Dayton snatched the cup from his hands, nearly knocking him backwards onto the hard floor.
White Eyes pushed himself away from the wall. He reached his bound hands forward, both in an attempt to grasp the refilled cup and to gain his bearings. A little clicking sound emanated from somewhere, and finally long fingers reached the pink plastic. “Thank you,” Sam—or whatever the hell the blind kid’s name was-- said between gulps.
Dayton took the glass as soon as it was empty and filled it again. “Up to you, kid,” he said nonchalantly to the one called Remy. “You want water or not?”
A cloud of emotions swirled across the long face, and the blue eyes sparkled in the stray light beams. “Yes,” he said finally, reaching for the offered cup. He drained it nearly as
quickly as the younger kid. He handed it back silently, almost throwing it at Dayton.
“I said, play nice,” the Southerner snapped, cuffing the kid upside the head. Dayton watched a moment as the kid struggled to fight back his anger. Turning to White Eyes, he said, “Hold out your hands.” The blind kid did so, and Dayton shoved the remains of the sandwich into them. “Figure it out,” he said as he snapped the padlock shut again and left the room, taking Charlie in tow. Before he hit the stairs, the sound of shuffling feet graced his ears.
“Why are you doing this?”
Dayton stopped and spun on a dime. “Why?” he asked, staring the smallest of his three “guests” straight in the eye.
The kid nodded.
“Because someone owes me, and I aim to collect.” With that, the two men went back up the stairs, Charlie slamming the crossbar firmly home once they were inside the main house.
“Those kids are fuckin’ creepy,” the giant man said, shaking himself in almost a shiver. “Especially that white-eyed kid. Like looking at a talkin’ ghost.”
“What worries me is once the fear wears off, they might try something,” Dayton mused. “Hopefully Riley hurries back with the phone, so we can get down to business.”
Chapter 24
The selection at the grocery store outside the little town of Otis wasn’t vast. There was a meat counter, though, and Riley was able to get good steaks for a price. The potatoes were small, and not mealy enough for his liking. He sighed. He grabbed a few chocolate bars as well as the ice cream Dayton wanted—strawberry, not the chocolate he knew the Southerner preferred. Let him bitch, Riley thought. I’m the one driving.
Looking in his basket, Riley realized he’d need some steak sauce—condiments hadn’t been on the list of initial provisions once the building project had begun, and it wasn’t a real steak without steak sauce. He strolled down the aisle, expecting one or two choices at least. He toyed with the idea of getting Cajun seasoning, a personal favorite of his and Charlie’s, but opted to stick with traditional.
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