Jill reached for her elbow—more pain rocketed through her. She couldn’t put pressure on that arm—it hurt far more than her throbbing mouth, her throbbing head. She took a breath then began feeling around for her shoe. As she put it on she thought about the tapping sensation.
Why the hell would he tap her shoe instead of slicing off her foot or grabbing it and pulling? The maniac was toying with her. But still, it didn’t make sense. Did I really even feel that, or am I losing my mind? But she couldn’t think about that right now. He was too big to get through that small space that Jill squeezed through, so there was only one thing he could do. He’d have to go back.
Move. Jill was on all fours, trying not to put pressure on her right arm. Pain shot through her. She’d have to push past the pain and keep going. She thought about the FBI brief. The shots on that megatron—the pictures of their faces and the description of their mutilated vaginas. No way in hell she was ever going to let him do that to her. No way in hell.
Moving forward, she could feel the tunnel walls narrowing. The surface felt smooth like river rock that has been washed over for hundreds of years. She lifted her head a few inches and bumped it against the tunnel ceiling. She reached for the matchbook and lit another match. She almost sucked in the flame when she saw what was ahead of her.
Twenty-six
“Mommy, Mommy,” little Jill whimpered. Her tears were as dry as her mouth. Little Jill was in the fetal position in her black house. She heard something scratching, she was sure of that. She’d heard it before. She knew what would come next. Then her little house began to wheeze. Something rhythmically pushed up-and-down. Up-and-down. Faster now. Up-and-down. Up-and-down. Up-and-down. She needed to stay quiet and not cry. Terror bubbled up her throat because she didn’t know what would happen next. It was always something different. Then she heard her mother scream and the man she’d call father grunt before the knocking stopped.
***
Jill blinked past the flame in the blackness ahead. Fear gripped her gut as recognition bloomed inside her brain. She was breathing rapidly now. The realization stung. All those reoccurring dreams she’d had as far back as she could remember. When she dreamed, when she could remember her dream, she was always trying to get out of a dark hole. Clawing until her fingers bled. Trying to escape. What was going on? What the hell was happening to her?
Looking ahead at the narrowing tunnel, she felt like she was Alice in Wonderland inside a black garden hose. Could she even fit through it? Jill pondered at the horror of going into that tight, dark space. She trembled to the point where she felt as if her nerves would burst through her skin. Fear exploded from her pores like erupting volcanoes. Her hand shook so hard she dropped the goddamn match. Blackness.
Frantically, she tried to light another match and dropped it before she could strike it. Then she heard it. What was it? She sucked her fear back inside and listened. Air breezed past her with the sound riding its wave. Jill pinched off another match, making the connection this time and held the flame far out in front of her to see into the tapering tunnel. She had no choice. She had to go.
With the small flame guiding her Jill laid on her belly before it went out. Then she heard the sound of something roaring. Rumbling. Fear surged through her again in this tiny hell. Leaning on her left elbow, she pulled with her right arm, inching herself forward. The sound of her slithering and the slickness of the tight tunnel made her remember something she had heard earlier. What would make this tunnel so smooth, creep up her spine, and tap her on the shoulder? Water. The thought made her squirm faster. She remembered Matthew saying that water ran through the cave systems, especially after it rained. She thought she was moving horizontally when she felt the tunnel becoming moist.
Water bit into her fingers like a hungry Jack Frost. “No!” she cried. “No.” She couldn’t go backwards and she sure as hell couldn’t turn around. She had no idea how much water was ahead or how much was coming, and the rumbling sound was getting stronger. The good news was that she could move faster in the tunnel. The bad news was that she could move faster in the tunnel. She didn't know what was worse. Her whole belly was cold and wet now. She squirmed past a bend and heard water dripping from above, about three feet ahead. The dripping came faster, as if someone were turning up a tap. Faster and faster. The drips turned into a stream as she wriggled past the spout, sputtering as the water rose in the tube.
The water had a funny metallic taste. Like blood. She pulled herself past nature’s faucet and found a small break in the tube. It was dry. Jill flicked her hands attempting to air-dry them before reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out the soggy matchbook. She pulled off one of the four remaining dry ones, struck it, and held up her hand.
She saw that she could probably sit up in this small alcove. Ahead of her was a small ledge of fallen rock forming a gradual hill. The flame of the match fluttered upward, along with her gaze. At the top of the cave she saw another tunnel. Jill stood and held the flame up to the mouth of it. The tunnel instantly sucked the life out of the flame.
Hope surged through her and she pawed herself up into the tunnel. Inside the mouth of it she noticed an immediate difference. This tunnel was thirsty. It hadn’t seen water in a very long time. She moved forward and with each pull, bits of pebble and sharp gravel broke off. The tiny shards of rock scraped her hands raw.
She was in the tunnel for two minutes before her hands touched something. She flinched and pulled them back. Then she tentatively began tapping her fingertips from left to right as if playing the piano. Jill felt it. A ledge. A ridge. The end of the tunnel. She spidered her fingers over the edge and held her breath, before jerking them back inside. The wall beyond the edge felt warm to the touch.
Twenty-seven
The Bell 206 helicopter blades rotated and rain bled across the windshield as they lifted off the ground. “We’ll be touching down in approximately forty-two minutes.” Tracy bellowed to Eric before snapping on the headset.
The scratchiness of the squawk cleared when Eric replied. “I’m still getting an ‘out of the service range’ recording on Jill’s phone. Still the same for Jake’s?” Tracy nodded and she looked down at the shrinking specs of light as they ascended.
Eric opened the file and began to leaf through it. He picked up a sketch scribbled with Mitch’s signature and handed it to Tracy. She examined what looked like a whimsical magic mountain. Eric pointed and said, “See, here. Clearly it’s a mountain, but look at how he’s scribbled inside it.” Tracy looked at the fluid drawing. It looked as if an angry child had etched harshly scratched lines back and forth at the base of the mountain until it was a solid scribbled structure. A small white blotch appeared to be purposely not filled in. “It looks like some sort of entrance,” Eric pointed out.
Tracy ran her fingers along the scribbled lines. “And what kind of opening is in the base of a mountain?” Eric stated rhetorically.
“A cave.” Tracy said. Without hesitation, Eric placed a full colored image on top of Mitch’s sketch. It was a picture of the mouth of a cave. Above the cave perched a sign: Luray Cavern Expeditions.
Eric looked at the next sketch, Malcolm’s, then placed it on Tracy’s lap. The squawk picked up Tracy’s breath as she sucked it in slightly.
Eric waited for her to say something, but she just stared. Finally, Eric said, “See, here.” He tapped what looked like a giant waterfall. It appeared suspended in time as if the water were not flowing. Below the still waterfall dozens of jagged spikes shot upward, taking up most of the bottom half of the page. Eric placed another full color image on top of Malcolm’s sketch. The similarity was uncanny, as if Malcolm had sketched this exact photo. “This is an image that was taken inside the Luray cave systems. See here at the bottom: LeeAnn Waters, summer trip Luray 2007.”
“I, ah, I,” Tracy stammered. Then before she could comment further, Eric placed a sketch by Jennifer on top of the images. It took a moment before Tracy breathed again, trying not to a
ppear disheveled. She saw a very clear sketch of stalactites and stalagmites, large limestone deposits from hundreds of years of growing. The jagged rock was shaded in with haphazard diagonal black pencil scratches. In the foreground she saw a raw sketch of a human figure. The handle of what looked to be an ice pick was stuck in a part of the face. The indent from Jen’s pressure on the pencil clearly retraced the letters: FBI.
“We think it’s male, well, only because there are no breasts on the body. That, and Jen’s notes. Eric knew that sounded lame and he didn’t know if he even believed that himself.
“Notes, what notes?” Tracy queried.
“I’ll get into that next, Tracy. Stand by.” He placed another full color image down of stalactites and stalagmites. Brightly lit, golden jagged stone gleamed in the caves. “These are stalactites and stalagmites. They’re in most cave systems, but this picture was taken inside the Luray caves. Another one of LeeAnn Waters shots.”
Tracy quickly inhaled and exhaled and said, “You got all this in a viewing session? I thought you folks drew stick men and maps or something.”
“Our science is advancing and this team has been hand-selected based on their background and testing. They’re the best in the country. Their gifts are beyond just the science.” Eric beamed just enough for Tracy to catch it. “Hell, I found Jennifer in a run-down cafe reading tea leaves for tree huggers at folk festivals. And I’d have to say she’s pretty gifted.
Tracy’s left eyebrow arched with this information. “You said something about notes?”
Eric handed over a copy of the briefing summary. The matrix of words looked jumbled to her.
“Here,” Eric reached over and flipped to the last page. “This is easier to understand. It’s their raw words.”
Tracy looked down at the long list and began to recite the words.
Solid.
Sharp.
Cold.
Wet.
Natural.
Mountain.
Orange.
Brown.
Spiky.
Sharp.
Glass.
Dirt.
Mold.
Water.
Ice.
“Now look at this.” Eric placed a similar photo of the Luray Caves. This image was credited to a geocache blogger, Andrew Reginald, 2012, along with his blog entry of his visit to Luray caves. Tracy read the entry and looked blankly ahead.
A gust of wind jolted the chopper to the left. Tracy was silent now. He knew she didn’t truly understand the drawing or the viewing summary. He’d felt this before. In truth pretty much every brief he had ever shared from the RV team produced the same mystified look. Eric sighed and waited for the barrage of questions. The first one on every team leader’s mind was usually the how-can-we-justify-a-budget-for-this question. But the question never came from Tracy. She just kept flipping through the pages over and over. He was sure she’d reviewed them at least five times. Her studious gaze always landed back on the sketch from Jennifer—the FBI figure.
The Captain of the helicopter squawked. “Two minutes until touchdown at KLUA, Luray Caverns Airport.”
Twenty-eight
Only ghoulish sounds swept through the dark cave system. Jill breathed slowly, trying not to fog the air with her breath. If the cave wall was warm, Jill thought, something warm must be up against it. A shot of adrenaline hit her hard in the shins and began to travel up her body.
She held her breath and listened. Nothing. She let out a soft sigh and waited. After what seemed to be minutes, she lit another match. A shadow darted across the cave wall, but she heard no sound. It didn’t make sense.
She inched herself forward to the edge and held the match out. She saw nothing below. She looked to the right and scanned the match across the cave wall to the left. More shadows danced on the cave walls. She was losing it all right. The shadows were only those of the flickering flame.
Jill jerked her hand as the fire bit into her raw finger and she dropped the match. She rolled onto her back, lifted her arms and reached above the mouth of the tunnel trying to grab anything. Her fingers clutched jagged rock and she pulled her body out of the tunnel. Her shoes whacked the floor and she crouched, turned, and placed her back against the cave wall, just below the tunnel. It felt cold.
Jill adjusted her vision. Then she smelled something familiar: mint. Where was that sweet smell coming from? Jill sucked in a silent breath and listened. Even in the darkness, this cave felt familiar. Fear pierced through her uneasiness. Still holding her breath, she brushed her hand against the cave wall, slowly inching her fingers away from her until she felt it: the twin tunnel. She squeaked a breath out when she realized that she was in the same goddamn cave she had started in. And if this was the same cave she had just came from not more than twenty minutes ago, then the Iceman would be coming back out the mouth of this tunnel. Or, Jill thought with horror … or he had already come out. And if he had already come out, there were only two places he could be. His death cave, or—Jill tried to force the thought—this cave.
A silent chill hushed the air and even in the low temperature, beads of sweat formed on Jill’s upper lip. Seconds passed and resolve formed in Jill’s mind. If I am going to die in this goddamn place, I will die quickly. She pulled out the last match from her pocket and lit up the small cave.
Directly across from Jill was the only way in or out—but it lead back to the Iceman’s grizzly cave. Her mind battled between running screaming through the tunnels, or just sitting and crying like a newborn kitten, hoping for someone to rescue her. Who was she kidding? No one was going to rescue her. No one. Then she thought of Jake again. Maybe he moved to a different part of the tunnel trying to get himself out. Maybe he found a way and maybe, just maybe, help is on the way by now.
Jill sighed. She couldn’t just sit here and wait out her fate. She’d make her own fate. She’d done it before. She looked in the direction of where she remembered the exit tunnel to be. Although it was dark, her eyes had adjusted, and she knew she could stand up. She moved in that direction, massaging the air with her hands, hoping to find the cave wall close to the exit.
She remembered that tunnel: four or five right turns, then two left. Jill recited her journey backwards. Think Jill, think. She had no choice, that much she knew. Plan A: Slowly approach the mouth of his cave and watch him. Then, when he least expected it, stab him in the back with the pick and stab him again and again and again. Or she could roll into his house of horrors and before he knew what was happening she could front-kick him in the back. Then, she could stomp her heel into his neck and kick him hard in the face. In the groin. Bastard. But maybe he has Jake’s gun?
Plan B: Run as fast as she could past the freak and out the opposite side of his cave and get the hell out of there. Sure, that sounds good. She could use the element of surprise. Yeah that would work. Well at least she had two really good plans. But somehow it didn’t make her feel any better, or any less afraid.
Adrenaline dripped into Jill like a sudden IV of the stuff. She walked to the mouth of the tunnel and flicked the match to the ground, dousing it. She wanted to move quickly, but she needed to be quiet. Element of surprise Jill, element of surprise, she thought to herself. She pussyfooted around one bend then another bend. When she finally reached the last bend she stopped. The yellow hue of the light streaming from the lanterns, guided her forward. She paused, thinking about the fog coming from her breath. She would have to hold it. She leaned her back against the tunnel wall. Light bounced off the other side. She watched for any movement in the sliver of light. All she could see were shadows dancing from the flickering flames.
She reluctantly leaned her head forward just far enough to see past the mouth. Her hand trembled, jiggling from the surge of adrenaline that had no outlet.
Jill scanned the cave. Matthew’s workbench was lit up by two lanterns screwed into the wall on either side. To the left she saw the tray of tools, the suspended rail, the stalagmite that she had been
tied to, Matthew. Matthew. What the …
He was still in the same spot that Jill had last seen him. Tinkle, tinkle. Jill whirled around. She clutched the pick from her waistband and crouched into a fighting stance. Tinkle, tinkle. She looked in the direction of the sound then back down at Matthew. His bleeding had coagulated. Then she noticed it: a smudge of blood trailed away from the black pool. She hadn’t seen it before. Could it have come from her when she cut herself loose? Maybe from her heel? As she contemplated, she passed the pick from one hand to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Tinkle, tinkle. That sound again—was that a shuffle? There was no time to think. Just move. Survive.
Jill lunged towards the workbench, snatched up the last book of matches and darted towards the only other way out. Once inside the tunnel, her shoes smacked on wooden planks. She saw light ahead of her. She was running now, holding the pick out in front of her. She rounded a bend to the right and ran smack into the large green cart, bounced back, and fell squarely on her ass. She heard more sounds behind her. She scrambled to her feet and whirled around again, trying to get her bearing. The large cart to the right appeared to be parked at a dead end. To the left she saw another tunnel. She darted in the tall slender opening, fumbled for a match, and lit it. It wasn’t a tunnel.
Jill Oliver Deception Thrillers Page 36
