by S. B. Caves
‘Oh do shut up, boy.’ Mr Wydebird turned his face away and made a wet sound of disgust. ‘You truly make me sick to my stomach, do you know that, Joseph? You are supposed to be the manager here, but I don’t think you could manage to piss into the ocean and hit water, let alone run a thriving branch of this organisation. Your complete disregard for discretion is dangerous for all of us. First Leslie, and now this. If you were me, what would you do?’
Sweat stung Joseph’s eyes. His stomach began to cramp. ‘Mr Wydebird, please …’
‘Mr Wydebird, please,’ mocked the old man, his reedy voice quavering hideously. ‘I’m thinking that maybe it isn’t the girls who are the cause of all this grief. You are supposed to lead by example. What exactly is it that you have taught them?’
‘I don’t know,’ Joseph whimpered, tears mingling with the sweat.
‘I think tonight we should bury two bodies, poor young Hendricks and “I Don’t Know” Joseph. How about that?’
Joseph clasped his hands together and bowed his head. ‘Mr Wydebird, you don’t need to do this. I can look after the house. I will rectify the problem. This will never, ever happen again.’
Mr Wydebird’s hand slithered over and seized Joseph’s wrist. ‘It had better not.’ His mouth turned down in a horseshoe grimace, his hooded eyelids rising ever so slightly. ‘Because if there is one more problem, Joseph, you will know suffering like no man has ever known it before. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Joseph said, wiping his nose in the crook of his arm. He got to his feet and cleared his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘What will you have me do with Wendy?’
‘Why don’t you tell me what you think should be done?’
‘I think we should burn her in front of the rest of the girls. We should show them that this won’t be tolerated. We should—’
‘Full of cruel ideas, aren’t you, Joseph?’ Mr Wydebird’s cheeks puffed out as he coughed. ‘You know exactly what to do to punish a child, but not how to prevent that child from misbehaving in the first place. How would you like me to have you burned? Perhaps you should consider your answer before you speak, because it was a very real question.’
‘I don’t want to displease you any more than I already have, sir. Please.’
‘Then get out of my fucking sight. I’ll send Horace down to the girl when I’m good and ready, but in the meantime, remember this, you are on very thin ice. Now go.’
Joseph nodded. He thought about thanking Mr Wydebird for sparing his life, but decided that the best thing to do would be to leave as quickly as possible. He felt like he was in a sauna and wanted desperately to be away from the room, away from the old man and Horace and those chemical smells. He rushed out, closing the door firmly behind him.
He stopped off at the bathroom on the third floor and soaked his face with cold water before snatching a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. The liquid feeling he’d had in his guts had now set to concrete and he didn’t think he’d be able to empty his bowels even if he wanted to. He stood there for a while, holding on to the sink and shaking all over, on the verge of hyperventilation. He thought for a second that he might spin out and collapse in a heap, but his heartbeat eventually steadied to something like normal.
He left the bathroom and took the stairs down to the ground floor, not wanting to be locked within the confines of the elevator. The key thing, he told himself, was that he was still alive and the girl was back where she should be. Surely, if anything, tonight’s little episode showed just how resilient he really was: a problem arose, he addressed it and then found a way to solve it.
When he got to the foyer, he went to the cabinet on the far side by the staircase and fixed himself a large measure of Scotch. Sipping the drink, he paced the length of the reception, staring out at the field, rolling the glass across his forehead. The floodlights were still on, but the only reminder of the evening’s excursion was the deep gouges in the grass that the Jeeps’ tyres had made. He slid the door open, stepped into the cool night air and set off around the outside of the house. Lights were on in the guards’ quarters up ahead, and a few of the men were milling around outside, smoking. Joseph could see the disdain on their faces as he approached; the bitter resentment in their body language triggered by the murder of one of their colleagues. He sought out Abraham.
‘Has anyone done a head count on the girls?’ he asked.
‘Not that I know.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we weren’t told to.’
‘You’re the head guard, Abraham. I expect you to be a bit more vigilant than this.’
‘I follow orders. Our priority was to apprehend Wendy.’
‘Yes, but some initiative wouldn’t go amiss, for Christ’s sake.’
‘When Hendricks got cut, I rounded all the girls up and locked them in the dorm.’
‘All of them? So you did do a head count?’
Abraham didn’t speak for a moment. ‘I didn’t do a head count but I’m sure it was all of them. They were all in the canteen, eating.’
No, not all of them, Joseph thought. His heart stuttered in his chest and a jolt of pure, white-hot panic surged through him.
‘You want me to go up and count ’em now?’
‘No.’ Joseph shook his head, his lips numb as he spoke. ‘I’ll … I’ll do it.’
He turned and raced into the house, running up to the first floor and rattling through his keys until he found the one that would open the girls’ dorm. The lights were all on and the girls were lying in their beds … except for two very obvious omissions.
The bunk bed that Wendy shared with Autumn was empty.
Part Three
21
She’s out there somewhere, Francine thought as she exited the car, staring at the sprawl of forest on the sloping hills below. Through the dense expanse of trees, she could just about make out a sliver of ocean, could already taste the salt on her lips. She took a big lungful of air and regarded the scary ash-grey clouds. I’m close now, I can feel it. She was standing on the precipice of a winding road that spiralled down to sea level. She wondered how many cars had gone careening over the edge and been ripped apart by the jagged rocks. It wouldn’t take much: a mistimed turn, a bit too much speed.
She’d stopped to get a good look at the area. The vastness of the forest was to be feared and respected. The weight of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Autumn was somewhere in there. Perhaps Francine would enter the forest and vanish from existence too. After all, nobody knew where she was. Work would find a replacement; Will would sell another book.
‘You’ll die, you know,’ Cindy said from inside the car, as though she’d been screening Francine’s thoughts.
‘What’s that?’ Francine asked, getting back inside the vehicle.
‘You’ll die,’ Cindy sneered. ‘What did you think was going to happen? You thought you were going to go storming in there with your little gun and demand to see your daughter? They’ll laugh at you. Then they’ll take turns raping you. Then they’ll really torture you.’
Francine started the engine and continued her slow descent down the winding road. ‘You’ve perked up.’
‘I just want you to know what you’re going up against. There’s still time to back out of this thing.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Because you can’t win.’
Francine laughed gently. ‘You might be right. But I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?’
She came to the residential part of town and cruised along until she located a string of stores peppering one side of the junction. She parked up in front of the mini-mart, turned the ignition off and removed the keys.
‘I’m going to be less than one minute inside there. You won’t make any fuss, will you?’
‘How could I?’
Oh you could if you wanted to. And I think you might just try it when you get a window of opportunity, but this isn’t it, honey.
Francine got ou
t and locked Cindy in the car, taking the backpack with her. She didn’t want Cindy self-medicating without her permission.
Country music greeted her as she entered the mart. She looked over at the old woman behind the counter, but she didn’t seem particularly curious about her new customer. Francine threaded the aisles, finally stopping at the section that stocked home supplies. She was looking for duct tape, but then spotted a packet of plastic cable ties. Perfect. She grabbed microwave waffles and some croissants, then approached the counter.
‘Howdy,’ the old woman said, as she began tapping prices into the till.
‘Hello,’ Francine replied, fingering through the trinkets on the impulse-buy rack to the left of the counter. There were Little Peace magnets, postcards and even bottle openers, all of which cost a buck apiece. There was also a road map, the front of which read: ROUND THESE PARTS, YOU CAN ALWAYS FIND A LITTLE PEACE (population 6,000). She added the map to the items, paid and left.
When she returned to the car, she caught Cindy staring sulkily through the fogged window. She got in, chucked all her stuff on the back seat and started the engine.
‘Direct me to Glenn’s place.’
‘I’m feeling low,’ Cindy said, resting her head against the window. ‘Can I take one of my tablets? Please?’
‘You can take whatever you want when we get to the house.’
‘You said I could have something when we set off.’
‘I don’t think I did.’
‘Look, I just need something to even me out. I feel like shit.’
‘Direct me to Glenn’s house quickly then.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake! Have you got to be such a fucking bitch all the time? I thought you wanted me to help you find your daughter! I’m going to be no fucking good if you have me all strung out and tense, am I?’
‘Glenn’s house.’
‘Maybe I can’t think straight.’ Cindy folded her arms across her fake boobs. ‘Maybe I won’t say another word until I’m allowed some medicine. My fucking head is killing me.’
Francine sighed. ‘I know it’s on the seafront. I’m quite sure I’ll find it either way. The only difference is how quickly I get there.’
Cindy screeched and slapped the dashboard.
* * *
Glenn Schilling’s property in Little Peace was far more modest than his Oakridge mansion. It was a one-storey building that sat on a cliff overlooking the crashing waves. There were no other houses around, only trees and rocks. Francine stood at the window imagining what the sunset would look like on the horizon, the red-orange sky reflecting in the water.
Behind her, Cindy scuttled over to the wine rack and selected a bottle without prejudice. She grabbed a glass and said to Francine, ‘Do you want one?’
Francine checked her wristwatch. It was ten to eleven in the morning. ‘What day is it today?’
‘Huh?’ Cindy screwed her face up.
‘I don’t know what day it is.’
‘Me neither.’
Francine thought about it, remembered that Schilling had been out shooting his show the night before – Saturday Night Splendour – and realised it was Sunday.
‘No thanks,’ she said.
Cindy took the bottle over to the long glass table by the window and began stabbing a corkscrew into the top of it, leaving sprinkles of cork all over the table. Eventually, Francine snatched it out of her hands and took over. She pulled the cork out with a pop; the dark, fruity scent of the wine making her nostrils flare and her mouth flood with saliva. She handed the bottle back to Cindy before she could get too attached.
‘Thanks,’ Cindy muttered.
‘No problem.’ Francine pulled up a chair opposite the other woman and looked out of the window at the ocean.
Cindy sucked from the bottle greedily, panting each time she removed her lips. When she was good and ready – and she’d made a sizeable dent in the bottle – she put it down, wiped her mouth and said, ‘You don’t have a plan, do you?’
‘I’ve got a couple of ideas,’ Francine replied without looking away from the view.
‘You haven’t thought this through. You’re going off emotion. It’s no good. Common sense should tell you that much.’
Francine leaned across the table and confiscated the wine. ‘Then you’d better help me think something up. Because I’m not going to let things go sour on me before I let them go sour on you first. You can count on that, Cindy. Right now, every word that comes out of your mouth should be something to help me find my daughter, because you are literally talking to save your life.’
‘You won’t kill me. You don’t have it in you. I can see that with just one look at you. You’re upset, and maybe you deserve to be, but you don’t have to throw your life away over this. You’ve already committed a serious crime and could face a long time in prison, and I really don’t want to see that happen to you. I—’
Francine stood up, grabbed the mini-mart bag and removed the cable ties.
‘What are you gonna do with those?’
‘I’m going to bind your wrists behind your back.’
Cindy looked over at the door, then back at Francine. Francine shook her head.
‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Francine said, biting open the packet and walking around behind Cindy’s chair. Cindy tried to rise and Francine shoved her back down. ‘No, Cindy. You’re not going anywhere. So be good and put your hands behind your back.’
‘I said you don’t have to do that!’
She slapped Cindy as hard as she could on the side of the head, the palm of her hand catching the woman’s ear. Cindy’s head cracked to the side, the blow almost knocking her off the chair. She screamed and tried to wriggle loose, but Francine was in control, one hand clamped on the back of her neck, holding her in place. She dug her nails into the skin on Cindy’s neck until she could feel the knobbly bones of her spine between her fingers.
‘Give me your hands!’ she demanded. When Cindy refused, Francine hit her again, and again, smacking her across the head with her open palm. ‘Don’t make me give you something to cry about, Cindy. Give me your fucking hands!’
Snivelling, Cindy submitted and placed her hands behind the chair. Francine bound them using three cable ties – one around each wrist, with another one connecting the two like handcuffs.
‘Here is what I understand so far,’ she began, but her words were lost beneath the sound of Cindy’s sobs. She clapped her hands together, spooking Cindy further. ‘Concentrate, Cindy! Look at me. Here is what I understand so far. There is a group of people who kidnap children and take them to a house in the woods that they call the ‘big house’. There they use them for sex. They pimp them out and have orgies with men like your husband. Tell me more.’
‘I don’t know any more,’ Cindy said, her mouth moving like a fish out of water, searching for something that might satisfy Francine. ‘That’s it. That’s the top and the bottom of it.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with me. It’s him! It’s Glenn. It’s his people. I’m nothing. He only married me to keep me on his arm for publicity. A man as famous as him, he can’t be without a wife, can he? Everyone would think he’s a fag!’
‘I think if I were to watch those DVDs through, I might see you on one of them. Am I right, Cindy?’
Cindy’s eyes flicked around the room, looking at everything except Francine. Fresh drops of sweat pushed through the pores in her shiny, smooth forehead. Sweat pooled in the hollow of her throat.
‘I’m going to watch those DVDs, Cindy, so I’m going to find out either way.’
‘He makes me go. I don’t do anything to any of the girls, though, I swear to God. You give me a bible and I’ll swear on it with my life. Sometimes I have to do things with the other men, but mostly they’re there for the girls … the young ones.’
The muscles on the hinge of Francine’s jaw bulged as sh
e clenched her teeth. ‘You’ve gone this far, Cindy. You may as well tell me everything.’
‘But I’m telling you, I don’t know it all! Honestly! Honest to Christ above.’ When she said that, Francine heard a twang in her accent, like something from down south.
‘Tell me more.’
Cindy’s chest heaved as she breathed, her purple-stained tongue wagging. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘I don’t know yet. If you’re helpful, probably nothing.’
‘How can I be helpful? Glenn’s the one you need to be asking!’ A snot bubble expanded in one nostril and popped. ‘He’s part of it. Ask him; he’ll give you the answers.’
‘I will ask him. But first I’m asking you. How often do these gatherings take place?’
‘It’s real random. All different times.’
‘The house on that DVD I watched. Where was that?’
‘I can’t remember.’ She looked at Francine, and seeing she was growing dissatisfied, amended her answer. ‘It’s just a safe house. There’s a whole bunch of them all over the place. They switch it up a lot of times.’
‘How many times have you used this house we’re in now?’
Cindy’s eyes widened. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s ever used this place.’
‘The girl who told me about Glenn said that a bunch of girls were brought to his place near the ocean. This is the house she meant. So tell me how many times, and when was the last time?’
‘I don’t know that he used this place. Did he? That dirty fucking bastard, he promised me he wouldn’t do it at one of our houses. He …’
Francine removed the gun from her backpack, stood up and walked over to Cindy. She pressed the barrel into the woman’s kneecap and saw beads of sweat break away from Cindy’s scalp.
