When she woke again, the light was beginning to go. Once more nature called and she was able to lever herself onto the bucket and relieve her bowels. After it was over, she lay on the stone and vomited a small amount of sour bile. Panting until pain and pulse settled somewhat, Ruby turned to the second bucket. It was half full of water and she carefully dipped her hand in it, carrying the liquid to her lips and dribbling as much as she could into her bruised and battered mouth. The drinking took some time and left her weak and shaking. She rested for a moment before inspecting the third bucket. It, too, contained water. Beside it was a ratty yellow towel wrapped around a used bar of soap. Ignoring the soap, Ruby wet the end of the towel and carefully blotted her face. The terry material came away stained and bloody. She kept at it until she could do it no more, then splashed rinse water on her face from the drinking bucket.
Examination revealed that her left eye was swollen completely shut and was so puffy that there was no longer any indentation inside the socket. There was, however, a change in her eyebrow, nearly a dent directly above her eye. Extremely sensitive to the touch and radiating pain around the outside of the socket and into her cheekbone, Ruby reasoned that the orbit was probably fractured and displaced. Her teeth no longer matched either. Her front tooth just to the left of center was gone, as was the tooth to the left of it. Her incisor was too sharp and ragged to be anything but broken and the jaw teeth on the left side encountered each other unnaturally when she worked up the courage to try and close her jaw. She rinsed her mouth several times, each time drooling bloody water and saliva onto the stone. Spitting was out of the question.
Back on the blanket, which she now realized covered a thin foam pad, she eased down to her right side and used the roll of toilet paper as a pillow. How did she get here? Where was here? Ruby knew that whatever had caused her face such injuries was probably responsible for her broken memory. She also knew that her memory could return at any time. She wasn’t sure she wanted it to.
Darkness overtook the world and fatigue overtook her. Sighing and wishing she had an aspirin the size of a football, Ruby gave herself over to the closing of the day and began her descent into sleep.
Her broken mouth blurred her speech. “Fine me, Crockett,” she whispered. “Fine me an’ let’s go home.”
Ruby hung onto sleep as long as she could, dreading the discomfort and pain that would come with wakefulness. When finally the light would not let her go, she gingerly raised herself into a true sitting position and looked around her environment. As long as she moved slowly and kept her head balanced on her neck, she could tolerate the pain and was not overcome by nausea.
She was in a cave. Actually, in a cul-de-sac off of a cave. Light filtered to her location, but she could not see outside from where she was. Her area was about ten feet deep and fifteen feet wide with natural stone walls and floor. About her waist a padlock secured a heavy chain that ran across the stone beneath her and up the wall to an embedded ring that appeared to be higher than her head, if she were able to stand. The chain seemed long enough to allow her some freedom of movement.
Against the rear wall were the three buckets she’d discovered the evening before. Added now to her collection of luxuries were her blue sweatpants and sweatshirt, her pair of Reeboks, and a white garbage bag. Inside the bag were two Hostess Cherry Pies, four Twinkies, a couple of Hershey Bars, and a small tin of Vienna Sausages. The sight of the food brought saliva to her mouth and cramps to her stomach, and she sank back to her side for a few moments until things settled down.
When the nausea faded, she unwrapped a Hershey Bar and broke off one of the little squares. She pushed it between her teeth and under her tongue to allow the chocolate to dissolve in the damp warmth of her mouth. Chewing was not only impossible, it was not necessary. The nearly acrid sweetness of the chocolate against the back of her tongue and throat brought tears to her eyes. It was so good it hurt, and her stomach cramped with anticipation. Sitting quietly for the next hour, Ruby slowly devoured the Hershey bars and the compote-like filling from both the Hostess cherry pies. She could not eat the cherries or the crust, but the filling went down as easily as the chocolate. It was wonderful and she felt some energy from the high sugar content. It took all of that energy, and more, for her to change clothes.
The chain around her waist was snug enough she couldn’t slip out of it, but not so tight she could not put on her sweat suit. The warmth of the sweat clothes was relief against the cool dampness of her surroundings, and she welcomed it, ruefully admitting to herself how little it took to make something as mundane as a sweatshirt such a luxury. There were no socks with the shoes, but they were also much appreciated. She’d already scraped her feet in several places against the uneven gritty floor. Evidently whoever had brought her to wherever she was did not intend to let her die of hunger or exposure. Before she dropped off into exhausted sleep, Ruby wondered if that was good or bad.
When she woke again, Ruby had no real idea how much time had passed. She used her latrine bucket, pleased that it was a bit easier for her this time, and turned her attention to food. Emptying the Vienna sausage tin and carefully arranging the sausages on a cherry pie wrapper, she managed to use the tin as a bowl to mix half a Twinkie with water and pour the cake and filling soup down her throat. She was mixing the second half when she heard footsteps in the cave and saw a shadow on the far wall. As quickly as she could, she moved to the rear of her area and hardened herself against what was coming.
He was relatively young, heavy through the neck and shoulders, wearing bib overalls held by one shoulder strap over a t-shirt that had been white once upon a time, heavy high-topped shoes, and a greasy yellow ball cap tilted to the back of his head on hair the color of dusty straw. His nails were dirty. He sported no growth on a slightly round face punctuated by small blue eyes, and looked slightly familiar. He gave a start when he saw Ruby looking at him and squatted down, ten feet away, unable or unwilling to hold her one-eyed gaze.
“Yer up,” he said. His voice was slightly high pitched.
Ruby’s words were slurred. “Where I?” she asked. It hurt to talk.
“Daddy’s cave.”
“Need doctor.”
“Speck not, m’am.” He couldn’t look directly at her.
“Why?”
“Doan want nobody to know yer here.”
Ruby pointed to her face. “You do this?”
“Yes, M’am,” he replied. “Sorry ‘bout havin’ ta hit ya an’ all, but ya’ll fought real hard.” A tiny smile flitted over his lips.
The memory struck Ruby like a brick and she sagged against the wall behind her as the cave swam in and out of focus. The spiders, the attack at the bottom of the stairs, the battle in the living room all flooded through and around her at the same time. For a moment, she fought to stay conscious. Her temper came up and brought her back.
He noticed. “Ya okay, m’am?”
“What you think? Look at me. Broke teeth, cut tongue, maybe no eye. Can’t chew, barely talk, I hurt, chain to wall, crap in bucket.”
He flushed red and turned his head away for a moment before replying.
“Ya’ll shouldn’t a fought me.”
“Something else or wouldn’t be here. Right?”
“Yes, m’am. Ya shouldn’t a tolt all thet stuff about Harold Lee.”
Ruby furrowed her brow and regretted it immediately. Pain shot through her head and around into her jaw.
“Harol’ Lee?”
“My brother. You set up there in thet court an’ tolt them folks what his wife tolt you, an’ they sent him to the jailhouse. Warn’t none a yer bidness.”
Ruby got it. “Snake,” she said.
“Yes m’am.”
“Five or six years. Why so long?”
“Huh?”
“Now what? Kill me?”
“Fixin’ ta keep ya fer a spell. Like them folks is keepin’ Harold Lee.”
“What you name?”
“Boog.”
<
br /> “Boog. Young brother. Snake kill Norma Mae, you just kid.”
“I reckon.”
Ruby wiped saliva off her chin. Her mouth was beginning to loosen up a bit, and her tongue was more mobile.
“Harold Lee not chain in cave, Boog. Got room, bed, meals, toilet, shower, exercise, books, doctor, television. Not keep me like Harold Lee. Not even close.”
“Yew ain’t so bad off,” Boog said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Ya’ll ain’t dead, I’ll keep ya in food ‘n such. Ain’t fair thet Harold Lee is up in that jailhouse an’ yer walkin’ around loose. You put him there.”
“Jury put him there. Kill his wife.”
“If’n she’d a come down here an’ joined in the fambly nothing woulda happened. She’d still be here if’n she’d a done what she was tolt.”
Ruby hurt and was getting a little dizzy again. The futility of reason was obvious.
“’Nuff,” she said. “Go way, Boog.
“Whut?”
“Need sleep. When come back bring glass, cup, spoon, fork, pillow.”
“All right.”
Ruby noted the scrapes and cuts on his face. “I do that to you?” she asked.
Boog shrugged and nodded.
“Not ‘nuff, Boog. Not near ‘nuff. Leave.”
To her surprise, he did.
Ruby slumped back against the wall of the cave and began to quietly cry.
Ruby had been awake again for an hour or so when she saw Boog’s shadow. She called to him as best she could and, in a few moments, he arrived carrying a plastic bag.
“Ya’ll okay?”
“No. What in bag?”
He squatted down again and showed her a small couch-type throw pillow, a knife, fork and spoon in cheap flatware, a box of strawberry Pop Tarts, a plastic drinking glass, and a blue speckled tin cup. He tossed the sack within reach.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, m’am.”
“Where we?”
“Daddy’s cave.”
“Where cave?”
“North a Hardy a ways on the Spring River.”
“Where you live?”
“Next shaft over.”
“In cave?”
“Yes, m’am. Where Daddy’s still is.”
“Still?
“Shine. It ain’t fired up right now or you’d a likely smelt it.”
“I want some.”
“Ya’ll want some shine? Whut fer?”
“Infection in face an mouth. Give me chance.”
“Fer whut?”
“To live. Can’t keep me chain up if dead, can you?”
“No, m’am.”
Ruby pointed to her bucket.
“River water?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Make me sick.”
“I drink it all the time.”
“Need shine in water. Kill bad stuff.”
Boog stood up.
“I speck I kin gitcha some, m’am,” he said.
“An another towel.”
“Yes, m’am.”
“Name Ruby, Boog. Call me Ruby.”
Boog flushed, and then, for the first time, looked her in the eye without turning away.
“Yes, m’am,” he said. “I kin do thet, Miz Ruby.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was late afternoon. Crockett had just left I-35 for Southwest Trafficway when his phone rang. It was Clete.
“I’m here. Where are you?”
“No more than five minutes away,” Crockett replied around the lump in his throat. “Got a key?”
“Naw. I’ll wait.”
So many scenarios had been running through his mind on the trip up from the lake, Crockett was about thought out. He was nearly numb when he slid the Ram to a stop in front of the Alma. Clete was waiting beside the door.
“No sign of any kind from the inside,” he said as Crockett moved to join him. “Her car is in the rear lot, locked up. I don’t like this.”
Crockett used his front door key to gain entrance to the foyer and his house key to let them in his side of the townhouse. Clete drew a .45 H&K from a holster over his right kidney and looked at Crockett.
“What the hell am I doing?” he said. “Force of habit. Anything that happened here happened two or more days ago. I must be gettin’ old.”
He replaced the weapon and both men moved carefully up the stairs and into Crockett’s apartment, watching where they stepped and what they disturbed. The place could be a crime scene. Once in Crockett’s living room they proceeded to the draped doorway.
“I hate this,” Crockett said, and ducked through the drape. Clete was right behind him.
Crockett’s first scan of the area was for large objects, bodies, people, overturned furniture and things like that. As he finished his sweep, Clete spoke.
“Watch your feet. Got some physical in front of the stairs.”
Once they determined the living area and kitchen were clear, Crockett shouted for Ruby. No answer. He turned his attention to the disturbed carpet. Clete stepped around the area and went upstairs. Crockett was crouching, looking at blood spatter, when he heard Clete shout.
“Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ! Holy shit!” Clete came flying down the steps, his complexion the color of parchment. Instantly Crockett was on his feet and had the Texican by the shoulder.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, Goddamn!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Spiders! Big as fuckin’ hubcaps!”
“Spiders?”
Clete was vibrating. “Big-assed hairy tarantulas! All over the fuckin’ place up there!”
“C’mon.”
“Listen,” Clete said. “I’m from Texas, okay? We got spiders the size a fuckin’ Frisbees and scorpions the size of freakin’ skateboards! When I tell your ass there are fuckin’ tarantulas upstairs, there are fuckin’ tarantulas upstairs!”
Crockett couldn’t help grinning. “Tarantulas?” he asked.
“Go look, Goddammit! Those fuckin’ things give me the creeps. Shit.”
Crockett went up the stairs and gingerly poked his head around the bedroom door. Sheet tangled up, partially off the bed, nothing else disturbed. No spiders.
“Don’t see any,” he shouted.
Clete’s voice floated up from below. “I musta scared ‘em undercover or somethin’. Look around. They’re there, I tell ya!”
Crocket walked around the foot of the bed, then between the bed and the wall. Christ! On the floor a few inches out from the wall lay the squashed body of the biggest spider he had ever seen in his life. It was a long way from being as big as a hubcap, but it sure as hell was as big as a coaster. He twitched as a chill shot up his back and arms. Dreading what he might find, Crockett dropped to one knee and peered under the bed. In the gloom, he could discern two or three lumps on the carpet. Pursing his lips, he blew at the closest one. The lump reared up, waved two hairy arms in the air, and ran right at him. Crockett almost left his leg behind getting out from between the bed and the wall.
Panting, he left the bedroom behind and went into the bathroom. When he switched on the light, a rush of hairy brown legs skittered from the corner near the shower to the shadow behind the stool. Crockett vacated the bathroom and joined Clete in the living area. He only touched three steps going down the stairs.
Clete grinned. “You move pretty good for a one-legged old man.”
“You shoulda seen me in the bedroom,” Crockett said. “Passed my audition for Riverdance and set a new NCAA record for the long jump. Jesus! Seen any of those things down here?”
“Nope. An’ son, I been lookin’.”
Crockett rubbed his arms. “I never saw spiders that big before!”
“Told ya,” Clete said. “We gotta call an exterminator.”
“Yeah. We gotta call the cops, too. There’s enough blood and drag marks on the carpet to make this a crime scene. We have to report it and we damn sure can’t have an exterminator in here before
we do. The crime scene guys’ll shit.”
“Great,” Clete said. “You call the law, I’ll call a bug guy. Gonna need one with a shotgun or something. God, those things creep me out. They just fuckin’ gimme the willies!”
Crockett couldn’t resist. “Ghosts and spiders do it for ya, huh?”
“And snakes, and centipedes, and rats. I’m not crazy about horses neither.”
“Horses? You? A Texican?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it. Call the cops, goddammit!”
Chuckling in spite of, or maybe because of, the seriousness of the situation, Crockett punched 911 on his cell phone and waited to talk with Kansas City’s finest.
It took about thirty minutes for the police to arrive. During that time, Clete checked out Crockett’s side of the apartments and as much as he could see of Ruby’s upper level from the top of the stairs. Crockett sat numbly at his kitchen counter and tried to quell the ripples he felt behind his heart while kona dripped in his coffee maker. At length, Clete sat beside him and eyeballed him rather critically.
“You don’t look so good, son,” he said, setting an unopened pint of Half and Half on the counter he’d lifted from Ruby’s fridge.
“Feeling a little weak,” Crockett confessed. “She’s been taken, Clete. Somebody abducted her.”
“Looks that way to me. There’s a busted fingernail stuck in the carpet and a little chunk of blond hair about a inch and a half long. Put that together with the blood spatter, the blood drops and the drag marks, and we gotta figure she’s been napped. There’s a partial footprint out there too, blood transfer. Looks a damn site wider than anything Ruby would wear. I didn’t go into her bathroom, but I’ll bet your ass cheese curds to dog turds that there ain’t nothin’ missin’. She didn’t pack up and walk out. Hell, her car keys are on the kitchen counter.”
Abducted Page 18
