by N. M. Brown
Chapter Seventeen
At the same time as her mother was calling into the indifferent darkness, Tina had made a discovery. The sinking sun had only just slipped behind the fading violet horizon, as the exhausted girl reached an area where the ground beneath her feet began to slope downwards. This incline made moving through the darkening landscape easier. Tina held on to brittle branches for support as she made her slow descent. Her tired muscles had little left to give, and so simply allowed the girl to stumble down the slope, kicking up small puffs of dust with her feet. Halfway down, she lost one of her shoes entirely, but she was too exhausted to retrieve it. Instead, she shambled endlessly down the hill until she found herself standing on more level ground in a small valley flanked on three sides by tree covered hills.
It was here in the shadow of this valley that Tina found herself facing a cluster of old farm buildings. The angular structures were old and wooden, odd curls of defiant paint on the otherwise colourless planks suggested the place had once been painted yellow, but decades of exposure to the elements had bleached them. A dusty track, which may have once served as a road, led out of the cluster of buildings and stretched off into the flat darkness beyond.
When she first glimpsed the area, Tina had initially believed that the place might be occupied and perhaps some friendly old lady would take her inside, and then call Tina’s mother on the telephone to come and collect her. But upon closer inspection, Tina realised that the place seemed dark and lifeless. Yet, the sour sweet tang of citrus fruit hung in the air like the ghost of some far away summer. The smell reminded Tina of a car air freshener her mom had once got when she got new tyres fitted on her car. It had been in the shape of a small tree but instead of being green it was orange. Tina had really liked the scent at first, but eventually it started to make her feel sick – especially on longer car journeys, like when they went to visit her Aunt Susan over in Barstow.
Although she didn’t know it, Tina had stumbled into a disused orange processing plant, which had been abandoned since the year of her birth. The Pembleton Farm Fruit Company had offered up eight years of sweet liquid before finally closing down when two seasons of canker killed off almost all the trees. The three buildings had once served as an office, a washroom and a wooden pump house.
Despite her fear of the silent old buildings, Tina edged towards them in the gloom. In her mind she recalled the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears and hoped that she might find some safety within the dried-up walls. Perhaps there might even be a telephone. She knew her home number – mom had taught her it the previous summer – and could easily dial 911 to ask for help. But as she stepped ever closer to the looming buildings it became clear to Tina that they were little more than dried-up shapes, like an old packing crate she had once found washed up on Buccaneer Beach. The memory of that day, when she and her mom had splashed in the foamy waves and made squishy footprints in the damp sand, caused an emotional pain in Tina that threatened to overwhelm her. But, much like her faraway mother, she knew she could not – must not – let that happen. She pushed the memory aside and focused on the possibility that the stranger was still out there following her.
Tina felt a new sense of a more immediate fear start to form deep within her stomach. She didn’t want to approach the cluster of buildings with all those empty black windows from which anything, or anyone, might be looking. To the left there was a flat roofed office building, bleached by countless summers. In the middle was what appeared to be a roofless toilet block, and to the right was a larger barn-like structure. All of them looked to Tina like something she’d seen in an episode of Scooby-Doo. Yet despite her fear, she knew that she needed to rest. Her feet were blistered and stinging at the heel where the back of her small shoes were cutting into the skin, but even still she was hesitant. Then she saw something in the fading light that made her rush over to the office. A few feet along from the door, protruding from the wall was a brass faucet. There was a grubby plastic tub on the dusty ground beneath it. Tina had half expected the rough-edged container to be brimming with water, but as she peered into it she discovered that the tub was empty except for a couple of old beer bottles and a dead bug. Turning her attention to the faucet, Tina licked her lips. It had been five hours since she had last had a drink. In the intervening hours she had crossed eleven miles on foot beneath a scorching sun. Gripping the faucet, Tina tried twisting it. The faucet was stiff and the effort hurt her small hands, but desperation kept her going and the faucet began to turn. There was a gurgle, as if some underground troll was chuckling at Tina’s hopeless situation, then a sudden splash of water came out in a belching splatter. It was not the steady stream of water she would have seen at home; instead this was an irregular flow, sloshing into the plastic tub. Tina cupped her hand into the flowing water and scooped some to her dry lips. It tasted warm, but clean. Within seconds she had put her mouth to the faucet and gulped down mouthfuls. When she was done drinking, Tina decided that she definitely should bring some water with her. She reached into the plastic tub and fished out one of the old bottles and a discarded lid. Having poured out its contents, she filled the bottle then twisted the faucet shut again. Finally, caked in dust and bottle in hand like a small town drunk, Tina Blanchette decided that she desperately needed to find a place to rest for the night. First of all she decided to try the building marked ‘office’.
Pushing the door open, Tina got a real fright as some small hidden creature scampered away from her and deeper into the dark labyrinth. Suppressing a scream, Tina stepped instinctively back from the rectangle of darkness, and then peered into the void. She waited, frozen, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat. Tilting her head to one side, the small girl suddenly heard the dry rustling noise of something scuttling through the darkness. As she thought of the possible explanations for such a sound – lizards, snakes or perhaps large spiders – Tina realised that no matter how afraid she was of the stranger, it would be impossible for her to enter into that place. Instead, she hurried over to the bulky silhouette of the barn structure. It was long, but even in the low light, Tina could see that it had a large square opening at both ends. That was good. It meant she could escape if she needed to. And so she stepped into the building, but rather than feeling afraid of the shadows, she felt some comfort in them. At least her choice meant she was in some sort of physical place. If her mom had told the police to look for her, they would probably look in places like this, rather than in endless fields and hills.
Gazing around the barn in the gloom, Tina thought about simply finding a corner to lie down in and wait for morning. But she imagined that the dusty corners might attract the very creatures she was afraid of, and so she made a brave decision. Tina decided to get as high up off the ground as she could. There was some form of u-shaped ledge running around the inner walls of the building about twelve or so feet off the ground. Tina knew the approximate height because it looked a little higher than her own roof at home. Her mom had told her that was eleven feet high.
Something resembling a huge ribbon of dark fabric extended from the ceiling to the floor, brushing past the narrow upper floor. The material - which was at least as wide as a person - reminded Tina of the moving belt that her mom placed the groceries on in the supermarket. For a moment, Tina felt so exhausted that she considered curling up behind this large strip of material. But she knew that she wouldn’t be safe there if the stranger came looking for her. Instead, she moved toward it and touched the fabric. It felt rough like an old tent that her class had once used during a school project on famous explorers. They had set it up at the back of the classroom, and adorned it with pictures of creatures found in the Amazon Jungle. Tina liked the tent, but had been surprised by how scratchy the material felt whenever she touched it.
She glanced upwards at the ledge, then all around the vast space. Even in the colourless gloom, Tina could see there were no stairs leading up to relative safety. But the increasing darkness motivated her to find a solution.
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Tina then pushed her water bottle into the waistband of her shorts, gripped the rough material and began to climb upwards. Her feet burned as she pressed them flat against the fabric and scrambled frantically towards the upper level. She almost slipped a couple of times, but her survival instinct was strong. Despite the exhaustion and her burning muscles, the small girl continued her ascent.
Eventually, Tina reached the upper level and grazed her knees clambering on to the flat surface. Having reached the top, she knelt on the wood, pulled the bottle from her shorts and took a sip. She peered around and realised then that it was simply a balcony which ran all the way around the building. In one corner of it a wide ribbon of the same coarse material she had climbed up was coiled like a giant snake skin. Tina walked unsteadily towards it. Then in a daze of physical and emotional exhaustion, she placed her bottle upon the dusty wooden floor and sat down. She pulled at the material until it covered her legs, then placed her head on her hands.
It was there in the dark folds of the old conveyor belt that Tina Blanchette curled like a small mammal and silently cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
The stranger pulled up outside his home on the outer rim of the trailer park and climbed out of his vehicle. It had taken him almost an hour and a half to find his way back to his parked car, then an additional half hour to drive home. He was exhausted and had not eaten in hours. Throughout the journey he had been overcome by emotions and had slipped in and out of the present time, sometimes thinking that he still had the girl in trunk of his car and he was driving her to his home. This was hardly surprising – he had been rehearsing this event in his mind for days.
At one point, just outside the city limits, he pulled off the freeway and on to a lonely side road. After driving along the track for half a mile, he found a place to stop. With the lights switched off, nobody else would see his car out here. He got out of the car then stumbled through the dust to the rear of it. Lifting open the trunk, he closed his eyes and made a desperate wish that she would still be in there, curled like a frightened kitten in the dark.
The loss he felt by staring into the empty trunk was almost unbearable for him. After glancing around to ensure that he would not be seen by passing cars, the stranger climbed inside the trunk and lay curled in the space the girl had earlier occupied. He started off by sobbing quietly, but within moments he began to roll from side to side moaning and then increasing the movement until he was thrashing around. His balled fists punched the inside of the cavity in a relentless frenzy. The crazed motion was enough to cause the car to rock from side to side. He only stopped when a passing car slowed down. The stranger lay in the dark, breathing heavily, listening to the approaching vehicle. If the car stopped and the driver came over to discover him lying, raging in the trunk, it would be necessary to take some action. As he waited, the stranger’s bleeding fist moved instinctively to the hunting knife kept on his belt. Thankfully, the driver of the approaching car changed his mind, and sped up. The stranger sighed as the sound of the vehicle faded into the night.
After climbing up the five steps, the stranger pushed his key in the door lock. His was a 1985 wide trailer. He had paid extra for it, not for the additional width but for the fact that the internal floor level was four feet higher than the ground. This meant that the substantial crawl space beneath the structure was enclosed on all sides by a cinder block wall.
Having turned the lock, the stranger entered the trailer, and felt a tide of rage wash over him. This should have been his moment of bliss, he should have been returning home with a secret treat in the trunk of his car. He had planned to arrive home, have a drink to celebrate and then, once the other trailers fell silent for the night, he would transfer the kid. Now his plans were ruined.
Closing the door of his trailer, he turned and looked at the living area. Two mismatched sofas formed an L-shape around a small coffee table. The table was square and sat on top of a zebra-print rug. A couple of car magazines were randomly spread on top of the table. There was also a copper ashtray, a half empty bag of potato chips and an empty beer bottle. The scene looked fairly low-key and natural, but that was the whole point of the display. The stranger walked across the room to the table and lifted it up. None of the items on top of it moved. They were all attached to the surface with superglue – even the magazines. This would allow him to quickly replace the table if anyone ever came to his door.
Once he had placed the table to one side, he turned his attention to the woollen rug. Kneeling down on the wood-effect flooring, he slowly peeled the rug off the floor. The Velcro tape which held the rug securely in place tore apart from itself to reveal a neatly marked square in the centre of the floor. Inside the outline of Velcro was a square wooden hatch. The edges of this square were raw and splintered where the circular saw had ripped through the flooring, when the stranger had created it.
Once he had discarded the rug, the stranger then knelt down in front of the hatch and reached under his T-shirt. He pulled out the sheath knife that had been jammed into his waist band. Gripping the leather sheath in his left hand, the stranger slid the blade out and inserted it into the edge of the hatch. Bearing down on the knife, he levered the hatch open an inch, then pushed his fingers into the gap he had created. He grunted as he lifted the hatch fully open. Shuffling around and mumbling to himself, the stranger manoeuvred himself so that his legs were dangling over the edge of the dark square space. He placed his hands, palm-down on either side of the opening then, like someone sinking into a hole cut on a frozen lake, lowered himself down into the darkness.
For a moment he clattered around in the shadows until a flare from his zippo lighter ignited a flame which was passed between a couple of wax candles which were stuck in the earth floor. The sickly flickering light illuminated an underground chamber which was almost half the size of the trailer above. It was large enough for the stranger to move around in on all fours. The side walls of the crawl space had originally been formed by the cinder blocks of the supports for the structure above, but the stranger had modified them. Over a period of three weeks he had carefully lined each of the four outer walls with insulated tiles. The first ones he had picked up from Home Depot had been too large to fit through the hatch, so he had returned them and replaced them with smaller ones that were rectangular and just slim enough to fit through the square hole in the trailer floor. These tiles had been stuck to the original blocks, creating a second inner wall. The main benefit of this part of the project had been to soundproof the place, but the addition of the foil backed tiles also meant that the temperature down here remained fairly constant. He figured that might have been useful if he kept somebody in here during the winter months. In a few places the stranger had stuck pictures from kids’ comics on to the walls. He didn’t have masking tape so he had attached the pictures of cartoon bears and unicorns with three inch masonry nails. The stranger crawled across the subterranean chamber to the corner furthest away from the hatch. This was his favourite part of his underground bunker; a small steel cage waiting to be filled. It had originally been designed for use with a dog, but like the outside walls, the stranger had modified it. He used an angle grinder to cut it into sections that would allow them to fit through the hatch. He then rebuilt in the glaring light of an arc welder. The final addition was a thick padlock.
As he reached the square structure, the stranger felt himself fizz with excitement. The following day, if he did things properly, he could recapture the girl and bring her here – to her new home.
Chapter Nineteen
Angela was lost in the warm dark waters of sleep. Her eyelids twitched as she dreamt of her child. In the fantasy, she and Tina had been holding each other’s hands as they wandered through some ethereal city. The ornate buildings forming a labyrinth around them were tall and vague, fading into the heavens. They also curved upwards at angles which were only possible in the formless geometry of dreams. One of Tina’s small hands held on to her mother lik
e a small clamp; the other held a pink cloud of cotton candy wrapped around a thin wooden stick. The situation felt happy to Angela, but some dark menace was already starting to form at the fringes of her consciousness. She sensed that this comforting vision was not, in fact, reality. Yet she still held on to her daughter’s small, warm hand – absorbing the sense of connection no matter how illusionary it might be.
But at some point in the dream, things began to change. A sudden gust of wind whipped the cotton candy up into the air and sent it whirling away like a small pink tornado into the darkening sky. Even in the vagueness of the dream, Angela felt a shudder of panic as her daughter quickly slipped her fingers free from her mother’s grasp and ran off in pursuit of the treat. Angela called after the child and tried to move after her, but her legs refused to respond. She looked down to see that her bare feet had been fastened to the sidewalk by large twisted nails.
Angela gasped in the darkness and her eyes sprang open. She was still dressed in her faded jeans and T-shirt. The latter was soaked with sweat and clung to her back like a second skin. Her instinct was to clamber out of bed and run to her daughter’s dark bedroom, but the realization that this would be pointless hit her like a physical blow. Her daughter was not in her room, or anywhere else in the house. She wasn’t anywhere that Angela could reach her.
Rolling off the cheap mattress, Angela was running on autopilot as her hand fluttered beneath her bed, grasping for her sneakers. Having located them, she slipped them on to her feet.
Then, for a moment, Angela sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hot face in her hands, trying simply to breathe. But in that instant, panic flooded her system, and she could feel the adrenalin compelling her muscles to action. Despite the infuriating advice telling her to do nothing other than wait, Angela knew as a mother she had to do something to help her baby.
