The Keyholder

by Claire Thompson

  Jack’s hands were still shaking, making it hard to text with his thumbs, and so he spoke his text instead, saying, “I found a woman here. She’s,” he paused a second, censoring the words that had leaped to his mind about her terrified and emaciated state, held captive who knew how long in a filthy torture chamber, and said instead, “she’s okay but she needs medical attention. Something’s very wrong here. Don’t let Duncan out of your sights. I’m calling 9-1-1.”

  “What’s going to happen?” the girl asked, no longer whispering. Her voice was low and pleasing, stronger now, and a tiny fraction of Jack’s fear for her abated.

  “We’re going to get you help,” he said. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Eva. Eva Sandler.”

  “Eva,” Jack repeated. He had a thousand more questions about how she’d ended up in this attic torture chamber, how long she’d been there, and what she’d endured, but the first thing he had to do was get her the care she needed.

  “Let’s get you out of this hellhole, okay?” he said, almost managing a smile. He stood, and bent down, holding out his hands for her to take. “Can you stand? Can you walk?”

  “Yes. I’m okay, really. He let me eat today.”

  He let me eat today.

  The import of those words and all they meant pierced Jack’s heart like an icy needle. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, before he could stop the words. “You poor, poor darling.” He reached for the girl, pulling her into his arms.

  Chapter 9

  Nora stood by the front window in the brownstone’s living room, peering anxiously out at the street. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest, Jack’s text emblazoned in her mind.

  Charles had done an excellent job of keeping Phillip engaged in looking for a leak that wasn’t there. While Phillip was inspecting the pipes behind the submersion tank, the text had come through. White-faced, Charles silently held out his phone to Nora, who barely managed to swallow her gasp of terror.

  “Go up to the front hall and wait for them,” Charles had mouthed silently. With a nod, Nora fled the room, glad to get away from the handsome monster tinkering behind the water tank.

  A siren wailed, the sound getting louder. Blue and red lights flashed, illuminating the room. Nora ran to the front door and pulled it open as a police cruiser slowed to a stop in front of the house. Two uniformed police officers climbed out, both with a hand on their holsters, though neither drew his weapon.

  “We got a 9-1-1 call, ma’am,” one of them said, his voice deep and gruff, as they walked rapidly up the walk to the stoop. He was in his fifties, his body large and bulky in his uniform, the kind of body that was once muscular and was turning to fat. “Are you okay?” He peered at her beneath dark, bushy brows.

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. We called because there’s a man down in the basement—he’s been holding a woman against her will in this house.”

  The policemen entered the foyer. “Holding a woman? As in kidnapped?” snapped the younger cop, a man of medium height with thinning sandy blond hair and small, piggish eyes. “And you know this how?”

  “She left a note for us to find,” Nora said, deciding on the simple explanation for now.

  “Is the man armed? Does he have a weapon?”

  “A weapon?” Alarmed by the question, Nora flashed on the barefoot man she’d left with her husband. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. He doesn’t know we’ve figured this out. My husband is keeping him distracted down there until you arrived. We—”

  “This your home, ma’am?” the piggy-eyed officer interrupted.

  “Uh, no, I mean, yes, that is, it’s a-a kind of co-op,” Nora stammered, suddenly realizing what these men were going to see in the dungeons. Rallying herself, she continued, “The man is Phillip Duncan. He’s our, our caretaker. He lives here and takes care of the place.”

  “Where’s the woman? The alleged kidnap victim? Is she alive?”

  “Yes, she’s alive,” Nora said, shaken by the question. “She’s up on the third floor. Jack found her. Jack, our friend, he found her in the attic.”

  “So, wait,” the burly cop said, knitting his brows. “You say the perp is down in the basement, but the victim is in the attic?”

  “Yes,” Nora said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. “Like I said, my husband got him down there so our friend could go explore up there. I don’t like the idea of my husband alone with him. Can you please go down there?”

  The two cops exchanged a look, but finally the older man said, “Show us the way, lady.”

  Nora led them to the basement stairs, watching as they charged noisily down, the younger one calling out, “Po-lice!” with the emphasis on the first syllable, his voice loud and commanding.

  Nora was distracted by more sirens wailing. Racing back to the front hall, she saw through the window that an ambulance had arrived. Two medics, one male, one female, jumped out of the vehicle and moved to the back to pull open the doors. A moment later they were trotting to the door, a stretcher between them.

  Nora pulled open the door again as they climbed the stoop. “We got a call, ma’am. A woman’s been hurt? Was she shot? Is she conscious? Is there bleeding?”

  “Come in!” Nora said breathlessly. ”She’s upstairs. The third floor.”

  The man hoisted his medical gear bag more firmly on his shoulder and, the stretcher between them, the two medics followed Nora as she ran up the stairs. When they got to the third floor, Nora saw the trapdoor in the ceiling open, the portable stairs lowered. She could feel the negative, evil energy still permeating the space, along with an undercurrent of jumbled emotions spanning the spectrum from fear to relief to joy.

  “We can’t get the stretcher up those stairs. Let’s get up there and assess the situation,” the guy said to his partner. They set the stretcher upright against the wall and climbed in single file up the ladder-like stairs, Nora following. The thought of a woman being held prisoner for who knew how long in this attic, while they’d blithely played downstairs, sickened her. What if she hadn’t happened to see that secret message? How many times before this had the woman tried to reach out? At least it could only be a matter of weeks, since Phillip had only been hired a little over two months ago.

  Nora peered anxiously into the small room. The air was close and stale. Jack, shirtless, sat on a bare mattress on the floor, his arm around a frail-looking waif of a girl, a thin cover of peach fuzz the only hair on her shaved scalp. Nora froze, her hand flying to her mouth.

  Both medics raced forward into the room. The female medic already had her medical bag open. She spoke softly to the girl, who answered in a low, halting voice.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the male medic said to Jack. “If you wouldn’t mind moving out of the way.”

  “No!” the girl cried, leaning hard into Jack. Nora could feel her panic like a stab in her own gut.

  “It’s okay,” Jack said gently to the girl, easing himself away from her. “They need to examine you, Eva. I won’t go anywhere, I promise. I’ll be right here.”

  After a moment, Eva nodded, and Jack stood, though he stayed close by. Nora walked over to join him.

  The medics spent several minutes examining the girl while Jack and Nora hovered anxiously nearby. A sound made them both turn to see the younger police officer at the door, mouth agape. He looked around the small, rank attic space crammed with BDSM gear. “Jesus,” he muttered, his face twisting in revulsion.

  Then his eyes landed on the waif of a girl huddled on the mattress, Jack’s shirt wrapped around her shoulders. His expression moved from revulsion to pity, and for a moment Nora almost liked him.

  As if suddenly aware of Nora and Jack regarding him, he barked, “Don’t disturb anything in here. It’s a crime scene.” He strode into the room, stopping just behind the medics still crouching beside Eva. “You about done here? We’ve got the perp down in the basement. There are serious allegations we need to substantiate.”

  Both medics rose. “She’s st
able if you need to ask a few questions, officer.”

  Eva looked toward Jack. Nora could feel the girl’s uncertainty and trepidation at being questioned by the gruff cop. Jack must have felt it too, because he sat down beside Eva, and she flashed him a grateful smile.

  The cop didn’t seem pleased to have Jack encroaching on his space, but fortunately decided not to make an issue of it. He asked for Eva’s full name and date of birth, scribbling on a small pad as she spoke. “We’ll take your full statement down at the station after you get medical care. But in order to arrest the guy my partner’s holding downstairs, we need a confirmation. Did the man who has identified himself as Phillip Duncan abduct you against your will and hold you in this”—again he swept the close, rank prison with a frown—“attic?”

  “Yes,” Eva replied, her voice low but firm.

  “How long have you been up here?”

  “I-I’m not sure. I lost count after a while. It was September twenty-second when I came for the second interview. That was the day he”—her voice faltered. She swallowed hard and finished—“took me.”

  “September twenty-second,” the cop muttered, staring at the ceiling as he mentally tallied the passage of time. Nora, too, was calculating in her head. Nearly seven weeks held captive by that monster downstairs, and all the while the keyholders, Charles and Nora included, were blithely unaware of the atrocity taking place just over their heads. The thought made Nora’s skin crawl, and she hugged herself to stop trembling, tears wetting her cheeks. She ached to put her arms around Eva and comfort her however she could, but she sensed the girl was barely hanging on, determined to keep whatever shred of dignity remained to her in the situation.

  The cop opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again. Nora intuited he’d wanted to ask about sexual assault and abuse, but, to his credit, had decided against it for the moment. Instead, he said, “Okay. We’ve got what we need for now.” He fished in his pocket and held out a card, which Jack took on Eva’s behalf. “Call that number once she’s admitted. I’ve got an arrest to make.”

  After one last, horrified look around the room, the cop left the attic. Nora could hear him clomping down the portable stairs then moving rapidly down the hall to the second floor stairs.

  “We’re gonna get you to a hospital, now, okay, Eva?” the male medic said. “They’ll do a more thorough exam and probably want to keep you overnight for observation. Let me help you to your feet.” He extended his hand, which Eva took. The young woman stood, looking like a child in Jack’s shirt.

  “Can you walk, honey?” the female medic asked Eva, who nodded.

  They started to lead Eva out of the room, and she twisted toward Jack, pleading in her eyes. Nora could feel her fear, and her need. “Jack?” she said, her voice trembling a little. “You’ll stay with me? You’ll come with me? Please?”

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Jack said firmly, and Nora loved him in that moment.

  Nora moved closer to the young woman. “Is there someone we should call, Eva? Your folks must be worried to death.”

  “No,” Eva said quickly, then added, “My dad probably doesn’t even know I was missing. My mom passed away a few years back.”

  “Anyone else? A roommate?”

  Again Eva shook her head. “No. No one.” She almost managed the ghost of a smile. “A single girl, alone in the big, bad city. He had me all figured out.”

  Nora felt the sudden flare of anger rise up in the girl and sensed in that moment Eva’s strength and fierce determination. “He’s going to jail, Eva. And you’re not alone—not anymore.”

  ~*~

  The noose was tightening around her throat. Eva twisted, trying to pull her arms from behind her back, but the rope was too tight; it cut into her wrists, chafing as she tried to twist free. She was balanced on the chair, held in place by the rope around her neck. Master Phillip stood in front of her, a nasty leer on his face, his booted foot poised for the kick that would jerk the chair from beneath her feet.

  “You have to die. You do understand that, don’t you, slave Eva?” His voice cut like a whip.” I can’t keep you anymore.”

  She tried to scream. If only she could make herself heard, someone would come—someone would save her from this monster before it was too late. But no sound came out. His icy blue eyes bore like lasers into her head. She stared at him in mute horror as he kicked the chair from beneath her.

  “Eva, Eva. Wake up. Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re having a bad dream, honey. That’s all.”

  Someone was holding her in a gentle but firm embrace. The scent of soap with a hint of vanilla invaded her senses, and she breathed it in, the coiled tension in her muscles easing, the terror slipping away.

  Jack.

  The name burst into her consciousness like sunlight, and the last of the nightmare burned away in the face of its warmth. Eva opened her eyes. She squinted in the sunlight flooding the unfamiliar room. Jack let his arms fall from around her, but remained sitting close beside her on the bed, a small smile on his face, concern in his eyes.

  “Hey, you,” he said softly. “You okay?” He touched her arm, his fingers lightly grazing her skin. He smiled, a slightly lopsided, thoroughly engaging smile that made her heart skip a beat.

  “Yeah, thanks.” She struggled a little as she tried to hoist herself into a sitting position. “Glad I’m awake, though.”

  “Let me help with that,” Jack said, standing. He reached for the bed’s remote control that lay on the mattress beside Eva. “I think this is the button we want.” He pushed the large black button and the head of the bed began to lift, gently raising Eva to a sitting position. “Good?” he asked, and Eva nodded.

  He set the remote next to her. “Can I get you something? They’re bringing breakfast by in a minute, but I got you fresh water and ice.” He pointed to a small pink plastic pitcher and a plastic cup on the table beside the bed. “Are you thirsty?”

  Eva licked her chapped lips and swallowed. Her mouth was dry, the taste on her tongue bitter. “Yes. Thanks, that would be great.”

  As Eva reached for the cup, she saw her wrists were wrapped with gauze and white tape. Her fingernails, which she’d always kept perfectly manicured and polished before the abduction, were bitten to the quick, the cuticles ragged and bloody. She was dressed in a hospital gown, her hair no doubt a mess. She reached reflexively with her free hand to push it back from her face and felt only the scruffy fuzz of new growth on her bare scalp.

  What must she look like to this man—a hideous scarecrow of a girl, a survivor of a death camp? A victim. The realization tore at her like barbs latching onto her psyche. Where had Eva Sandler, the eager, confident young woman ready to conquer New York City, disappeared to?

  I’m still here, a small but insistent voice whispered from somewhere deep inside her.

  As she drank the cold, refreshing water, memories surfaced from the night before—the ride in the ambulance with Jack beside her, the probing and prodding as doctors examined her, the pierce of the IV needle and then the fuzzy wooziness that had overtaken her as whatever sedative they’d added to the solution did its work.

  “There was someone else here last night, too, wasn’t there? The woman who came into the attic and someone else?” The couple had arrived just as she’d begun to drift away in the fog of whatever drug she’d been given. She could see their faces, recall their concern and attention as the man talked earnestly to the doctors while the woman sat beside Eva and held her hand, but their names wouldn’t come.

  “Yeah, that was Nora and Charles,” Jack said. “They’re keyholders too and my best friends here in New York. Nora’s the one who found the soap. Charles kept Phillip distracted with a bogus repair issue while Nora waited for the cops and ambulance. They got here around two in the morning and made me go home for a while.” He looked at his watch. “They’ll probably be back soon.”

  The soap.

  All at once Eva was back in that room on the second floor, left alone for a few
minutes by Master Phillip, her heart beating high in her throat, her hand shaking as she desperately scratched letters into the soap with a nail she’d found several days before in one of the bathroom cabinets.

  What a staggering risk she’d taken. If Master Phillip had caught her, her punishment would be worse than anything she could imagine, and the chance of her ever leaving the attic again destroyed. Yet it was a risk she’d had to take, even if no one ever found the soap, or could make sense of it if they did.

  “Eva.” Jack’s concerned tone pulled her back to the present. “What is it? Are you in pain?”

  Eva shook her head, focusing on Jack’s face as she willed away the negative images still crowding her mind. “Not anymore.”

  They both looked over at the sound of a knock on the ajar door. A tall, dark-skinned woman in peach-colored scrubs came into the room wheeling a food cart in front of her. “Morning,” she said briskly. “Breakfast.” Expertly maneuvering the movable table so it was positioned over the bed, the aide set a plastic tray in front of Eva, along with a pint of orange juice. “There’s a menu there for lunch and dinner,” she said, pointing to a piece of paper and a stub of pencil on the tray. “Just circle what you want. No restrictions.”

  “Thank you,” Eva said, her mouth watering at the smell of food.

  “Enjoy.” The aide flashed a grin and left the room, no doubt with many more meals to distribute.

  Eva lifted the plastic dome covering the center of the tray to reveal a mound of scrambled eggs, two pieces of slightly burnt, buttered toast and two pieces of crisp bacon. In a separate compartment there was a small apple and a container of strawberry yogurt. She glanced up at Jack. “What about you? You must be hungry, too. Want some of this?”

  “No, thanks,” Jack grinned, “though it does look incredibly appetizing.” Eva realized he was being sarcastic, though good-naturedly. She would never take such an abundance of good, hot food for granted again.

  “Don’t worry, I have this,” Jack added, holding up a bakery bag, from which he pulled a slightly squashed powdered donut. “There’s plenty for you, too, if you want a donut chaser after you eat that enticing meal.” She noticed the way his eyes creased into sideways half-moons when he smiled, and found herself smiling back.