by Merry Jones
‘Hank? This is Hank?’ Lou tried to stop shaking. To adjust to the facts. Wally had not sent someone here to torture and kill him. The guy was just Harper’s husband. Bigger than he’d imagined. Built like a damned grizzly.
‘What happened? Why are you home?’ Vivian struggled to sit up, reached for the light on the nightstand. Turned it on. Squinted and blinked. Noticed the crutches.
‘Hoppa. Where is she? Late. Not home.’
‘Of course she’s home.’ Vivian fluffed her hair. ‘She’s in bed.’
‘Not. There.’ Hank turned, hobbled out of the bedroom.
Vivian grabbed her robe and followed, Lou right behind.
‘Hank – what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be back for weeks. And it’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?’
But Hank didn’t answer. Using the crutches, he hurried down the hall, searching every room, then navigated his way down the stairs, calling Harper’s name, moving through the house, stopping to search the view from windows. Finally, eyes haunted, he plopped onto the living-room sofa, holding his head. His skin reflected red and green flashes of light from the tree. ‘Where is she?’ His voice was both anguished and accusing.
Vivian worried her hands, shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Is the car here? You know Harper. She gets ideas and there’s no stopping her—’
‘She was here when we went to bed,’ Lou cut her off. ‘She can’t have gone far.’ Unless Wally had sent someone to come and take her somewhere far, just to prove that he could. Just to teach Lou a lesson, make an example of him.
Hank repositioned his leg. Winced.
‘What’s with the crutches?’ Leo eyed the leg, came closer; Hank glowered so fiercely that Lou cringed, backed away. ‘Hey, relax. Sometimes she can’t sleep. Wants a breath of air. She might have gone for a walk. Did you try her cell?’
Hank eyed him. ‘Kitchen. On table.’
‘She’ll be the death of me.’ Vivian scowled. ‘It’s freezing out – and she didn’t take her phone?’
Christ. She’d left her cell phone? She’d never have done that willingly; Wally really must have taken her. Lou struggled to stay cool, not to let on what he knew. ‘So, with no phone, she wouldn’t go far. She’ll probably be home any minute. Meantime – I’ll make us some coffee.’ He backed out of the room. Hank took no notice.
‘Lou,’ Vivian called after him. ‘Do you think she went next door? To see those boys?’ She stood as if about to run over to check.
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Same reason she does anything. To make my blood pressure skyrocket. She’s killing me, Hank. She really is – did she tell you she’s throwing us out?’
Hank blinked, confused. ‘Out?’
‘She gave us till the day after Christmas to leave. After all I’ve done for her – coming here to look after her – dropping my whole life.’
‘Vivian, don’t get started. Let the man sit.’ Lou stopped her before Hank could ask questions. ‘Harper’s been hormonal, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.’ With that, he escaped into the hall and up the steps to get his phone. He wasn’t sure how, but he was going to convince Wally to bring Harper back immediately, no matter what it cost.
The smell transported her. Locked in the dark, Harper saw lifeless faces, limbs lying abandoned by the road. She felt flies swarming in the relentless desert heat, heard random gunfire and men howling in shock and pain. But suddenly, violently, the world shifted, rolling her onto her side, tossing her sideways. The impact of slamming into slippery dead flesh jolted her back to the present; Harper put her arms over her belly, gagging from the stench.
‘Watch it!’ Sty’s voice, scolding Evan.
‘I can’t hold it – it’s too heavy—’
‘Hang on, hang on—’
And then the armoire tilted as if being hoisted unevenly, unsteadily, rising bit by bit, one end at a time, until finally, with an unkind thud, it was planted on its side. Harper lay on top of her companion, thinking about maggots. Crawling, sucking, burrowing, writhing. Harper scratched, slapping her skin, finally retching and wiping vomit from her chin. Oh God.
Straps or maybe ropes hit the armoire, along with grunts of pulling or pushing. And then, the start of an engine, the crunch of snow under wheels. The ride was rough but the corpse under her absorbed most of the vibration, protecting Harper like a slimy cushion.
Lou dashed upstairs into the bathroom, phone in hand, spun in circles while the call went through. When Rita answered, her voice was low and dreamy, half asleep.
‘What the hell has he done?’ He tried to sound strong rather than frantic, but his voice scraped raw. ‘I told you I got him his money – with interest. But I swear if he wants it back, he has to let her go. I’m serious.’
‘Lou?’ As if she weren’t sure who was calling.
‘He has no business with her. He shouldn’t mess with people he doesn’t even know.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Covers rumpling. She was stirring, waking up.
‘She’s pregnant, for Christ sakes – and guess what? She has nothing to do with me. She’s just the kid of some woman I was seeing . . .’
‘I don’t understand – what woman? Who’s pregnant?’
He stopped spinning, ran a hand through his hair. Could it be Rita didn’t know? ‘Look. Wally’s doing what Wally does. Playing games. Taking collateral. But this time, he’s gone too far.’
He heard a match strike, her draw on a cigarette.
‘Wally thinks he’s sending me a message. But I’ll tell you what: I have a message for Wally. I got his money, but he’s not getting it – not a fucking penny – until she’s home safe. Unharmed. You hear me?’
‘Lou. Be honest. Are you drunk?’ She sounded baffled.
‘Don’t play dumb—’
‘Whatever you think Wally did, you’re mistaken.’
‘Yeah? Well, maybe your boyfriend isn’t telling you everything. A pregnant woman? He’s that low? Endangering two lives—’
‘Trust me. The only life Wally wants to endanger is yours. He wants his money. In fact, he intends to come get it personally.’
‘What aren’t you hearing? I said he’s not getting it – not until she’s back.’ Lou stood at the bathroom mirror, caught a look at himself. Saw red lines pulsing through his eyes. Pasty flesh. Took a breath. ‘You tell him what I said. And get back to me. I mean it, Rita. Fast.’
When the call ended, he shoved the phone into his pants pocket, splashed his face with cold water. Stared at his reflection. Damn. Time to get packing again. Now, while he still could. He didn’t want to. Closed his eyes, already missing Vivian. For once, he’d thought he had the real thing. A relationship he hadn’t messed up, one that would last. But never mind. No choice. Being with her, he was bringing her trouble. Her kid was gone. Her grandkid. No. He had to go. Had to come up with something, an excuse to take off. Vivian would cry for a while, but she was tough, had been down a few rocky roads; she’d survive. And taking off would make Wally realize he shouldn’t have messed with Harper, that Lou wasn’t going to grovel and twist just because she was missing.
Drying his face, he thought of Harper. Wondered if she were still alive.
And, if not, how Vivian would handle it.
Felt a pang.
Damn. He had to get out of there before the shit hit. When his breathing was even, he went downstairs to make coffee.
When he got downstairs, the front door was open. Hank stood on the front porch with Vivian, staring out at the snow.
‘She has to be over there,’ Vivian told Lou. ‘Look – footprints.’ She rushed down the steps into the snow.
Footprints? Lou hurried over, stepped outside, checked out the ground. The porch light was dim, but, yes, for sure. There were tracks in the snow, leading next door. And they seemed fresh.
A wave of relief rolled through Lou. Maybe he’d been wrong; maybe Wally hadn’t taken her. Maybe Harper simply hadn’t been able to sl
eep and had gone next door to hang out with the college boys. Maybe he’d jumped the gun, worrying for nothing. He rushed over to Vivian, put an arm on her shoulder. Kissing her head. Maybe he wouldn’t have to skip after all.
‘Come on.’ Vivian tugged at him, plowing ahead. ‘She’s over there – I’m sure of it.’
Hank was having difficulty negotiating the steps on his crutches, but he wobbled down and along the path. Halfway down, he slipped and fell, landing with a thud. Letting out an angry grunt.
‘Here. You all right?’ Lou stopped, grabbed Hank’s crutch and held it up for him. The man was solid muscle but off balance, struggling to right himself. Lou was freezing; they were outside without jackets. The wind whipped up suddenly, and he shivered, waiting for a man twice his size to climb, stumbling and tottering, to his feet. Vivian had rushed ahead, calling Harper’s name. By the time Lou and Hank got to the fraternity, she was already at the door, peeking through windows.
The light was on in the foyer.
‘Hoppa!’ Hank pounded the door. Thrust his shoulder against it, threw his body at it until the wood around the lock finally broke and he shoved his way inside. ‘Hoppa?’ His voice circled the rotunda of the entrance way, crashed into the sitting room, bounced against the walls. He followed it, charging on his crutches through the shadows of the first floor, finding no one.
Vivian stood at the door, hugging herself, coughing, yelling for Evan and Sty, her voice scratchy and deep. Lou wrapped himself around her like a stole, trying not to collapse under the weight of what he now was certain that he knew. As Hank and Vivian had raced inside, he’d lingered out front. In the snow, he’d seen multiple footprints leading to the tracks of a vehicle. And tracks of something else – a sled, maybe. Or a cart.
Damn Wally. He hadn’t messed with just Harper. His people must also have taken the boys. Those two boys must have seen Harper in trouble, must have stepped in to help her. And now, all of them, all of them were gone, being held God knew where. All because of him.
Vivian left his embrace, began running around, up and down stairs, hollering names, looking like a trapped bird.
‘Nobody’s here, Viv. The place is empty.’
The facts were obvious, but she didn’t seem to accept them, fluttering around until the big guy lumbered back to the door and slowly started home. Vivian suddenly regained her focus. ‘Hank? Wait – where are you going?’
He didn’t turn around or stop moving. As he swung his body forward on his crutches, his voice slapped the air like wind. ‘Calling. Police.’
The thin wooden post in the middle of the armoire had broken under her weight, and gravity kept Harper right on top of the body. She pushed at it, trying to rearrange it, but the armoire kept bumping, tossing them, and the thing kept sliding around. Beneath her, she felt a cold arm. A hand. A puddle of puke. Shivering in frigid total darkness, she resisted the stench, the images it conjured – the explosion, the white heat, the motion of flying and the screams – no. She kept fighting the flashbacks. Had to think, had to figure out how to get out of the armoire, away from the body. From Sebastian Levering. It had to be him. Evan and Sty – they’d killed him. Harper cradled her belly, protecting the baby from banging the hard wood encasing them as they rolled along. A contraction snaked around her, and she breathed, assuring the baby or herself. ‘Don’t worry. It’s okay.’
Of course, it wasn’t okay. The contraction intensified, strangling her mid-section. ‘It’s okay,’ she repeated. Her baby wasn’t even born, and already she was lying to it. Gradually, slowly, the contraction eased, leaving Harper breathless, cold and damp. Suddenly, the armoire lurched to an angle, propelling Harper against the wall. She leaned on it, pressed her arm and a leg against Sebastian, pushing up and away. How long had he been dead? Three days? Four? Rigor mortis had passed; he was limp, clammy. God. Harper had to get out, had to. She leaned an elbow, lifting herself away from him, used her other hand to grope the wood, searching for the latch. If she could find it, maybe she could undo it, open the armoire door, climb out, escape without Evan or Sty seeing. Her hand moved along the wood, desperate and inefficient. Where was the damned latch? It had to be there, in the middle somewhere. Sebastian bounced; his arm flapped against her. She kicked it away, finally locating the latch.
‘I have it,’ she told the baby, trying to calm herself. ‘I found it.’ And she fingered the metal, feeling for the release, pushing and twisting it slightly, catching a finger on a sharp edge, feeling a prick of pain. Damn. She kept working the latch, pressing on it, hoping to hear a snap, feel the door give. But she felt no give, heard no sound above the noisy engine and the crunch of a snowy road.
Finally, she understood. She couldn’t get the door open because it was fastened from outside. The doors were tied shut. And the armoire had to be tied onto the vehicle. So, even if she’d unfastened the latch, no matter how long or hard she pushed, she wouldn’t be able to open the armoire. She was trapped.
And she was losing perspective. Had no idea how long she’d been in there, how far they might have gone. She let go, slumping against Sebastian, questions darting through her mind. How much longer would they drive? What did they plan to do with Sebastian? And what about the other body she’d seen them carrying? Who was he? Was he dead, too? How would she get away? Harper leaned on Sebastian, her left leg starting to cramp. Think, she ordered herself. Design a maneuver. But, digging her elbow into Sebastian’s ribs, the best she could do was to tolerate the fetid air and minimize the bouncing, protecting her belly with one arm.
By the time Detective Rivers arrived, Hank had already called Leslie as well as Harper’s obstetrician to see if either knew where Harper might be. Neither did. Both were concerned; Leslie offered to come over but Hank said there was no need. He met Rivers at the door and, on crutches, ushered her into the living room where they found Vivian, chain-smoking Camels and draining a bottle of Scotch.
‘Back off,’ Vivian growled, hugging the cigarette pack. ‘It’s not my fault. Don’t blame me for starting again. I was doing fine, but your wife finally pushed me over the edge.’
Hank glared; she snuffed the cigarette and downed her drink.
Rivers made them review everything that happened: Hank’s sudden return, Harper’s absence, the trek next door following footprints. ‘I thought you were supposed to be away for a few weeks.’
‘Surprise Hoppa.’ Hank’s voice was thick. ‘Christmas. Came home.’
Rivers eyed him. ‘So Harper didn’t know you were coming?’
He shook his head, flopped onto a wing-backed chair, clung to the crutch.
‘What’s with the leg?’
‘Hurt.’ He scowled. ‘Ligament. Not rele. Vant—’
‘Mr Jennings, please bear with me. Everything is relevant at this point. I’m gathering information to get a sense of what’s going on.’
Vivian raised a glass. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on.’ She gulped Scotch. ‘My daughter is out of control. She’s completely self-absorbed and oblivious to the feelings of the people around her. Trust me, you’re getting upset over nothing. She probably got bored again and went next door to see the boys. Probably they all went out for a ride around town. That’s all. She’ll turn up. You don’t need to worry about Harper.’
‘Has this happened before?’
‘What, that she’s gone over there? You bet. Look, you saw the footprints. I’m telling you, that’s what happened.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘You have them – they’re the same kids from the other night.’
‘Other night?’ Hank’s gaze moved from Vivian to Detective Rivers.
‘Yeah. When Harper made all the fuss about that missing boy.’
‘What. Missing boy?’
‘Hank, you have no idea how impossible she’s been. Thank God you’ve come home. Harper’s been over the top on one thing, then another until, like I said before, she’s decided to throw us out.’
Hank seemed doubtful. �
�Never told me that.’
‘Of course she didn’t. She knew you wouldn’t put up with it. But she gave us a firm deadline to vacate the premises. Her own mother. Don’t look so surprised. I’m not kidding. It’s been crazy here with her. She imagines things – it started with the naked guy in the snow . . .’
Hank’s brows furrowed. ‘Naked. Guy?’
‘Everybody stop.’ Rivers put her hands up, sighing. Clearly, not everyone was on the same page. She settled onto the sofa, looking around for Lou. ‘Any chance we can get some coffee?’
Lou was already in the kitchen, waiting for his phone to ring, concocting more than coffee. As hot water dripped through ground beans, he practiced his lines, the excuse he’d give to Vivian.
‘My brother-in-law called.’ He would try to make his eyes water, his voice break. ‘It’s serious. My sister. She’s been in a car accident.’ He would pause there, waiting for the expected, ‘Oh no!’ or, ‘Is she all right?’ He pictured Vivian’s face, the alarm and disappointment in her eyes. Would she sense his deceit?
Maybe he should forget the accident story, go with a cancer diagnosis instead. Although cancer might be less pressing; there would be treatments or surgeries that lasted weeks or months. But a car accident, well – that could suddenly put his sister, if he’d had one, on the verge of death. Could be a reason he’d have to drop everything and come.
‘I know it’s bad timing, what with first my client being angry and now Harper missing,’ he would say. ‘But she asked for me. And she doesn’t have long.’
Damn. It sounded phoney even to him. Never mind; if he presented it sincerely, she’d buy it. He couldn’t risk telling Vivian the truth. Poor kid. Well, there was no choice. The lie, his departure – they were for Vivian’s own good. As long as he was with her, she and those close to her were in danger. At least until he squared things with Wally. But after that, he’d still have to deal with Ritchie. Damn. Lou stopped, rubbed his eyes and took a breath, steeling himself. What a mess he’d made of his life. What a goddamned mess.
But there was no going back. He’d brought this onto Vivian’s family, and he’d have to make it right. He’d get Wally to bring Harper home, then move on before anything else could catch up to him. He stopped for a moment, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand; apparently, he wouldn’t have to fake tears. Taking a deep breath, getting control of himself, he opened a cupboard, pulled out a box of shortbread. Arranged some cookies on a tray, poured steaming coffee into the mugs. Headed into the living room, eager to tell Vivian about his sister, to get it over with.
