by Merry Jones
Harper slowed her breathing. Had been trained to resist torture. The cold had dulled her sense of pain, but the sting of the knife revived and infuriated her. She refused to let Evan get sick pleasure from hurting her, and deliberately shifted her thoughts away from him and his knife, concentrated instead on working the nail. ‘I want.’ She worked her mouth carefully. ‘To sit up.’
Evan chortled, repeating. ‘You want to sit up?’
‘I don’t want to die lying down.’
Evan held the knife to her ear. Traced its edge down to her earlobe. Dug a small hole in her forehead. ‘Your third eye,’ he grinned.
The pain was almost unnoticeable, thin and shrill. Harper focused on resistance, relaxed her muscles. Refused to flinch. Would not let him see fear. Worked the nail.
‘All right. I don’t see why we can’t grant your final request.’ He stood behind her head, lifted her by the armpits. Helped her sit up.
Harper bent her knees and straightened her back, slowly finding her balance, she rotated toward the ladder. Blinked a trickle of blood out of her eye. Pushed the nail, jabbing her bindings again.
Evan walked around to her face, examined it. Frowned. ‘This won’t do. You’re asymmetrical. Looks like you’ve got half a grin.’ He moved the knife to her chin, where his first cut had ended. He knelt in front of her and pressed the knife to her skin, smiling.
But his smile vanished when Harper swung her torso forward with all the force she could muster, butting him in the head with a harsh crack. Evan flew, arms flailing, off the edge of the loft.
Lou couldn’t meet Vivian’s eyes. Couldn’t bear to see the sadness – or maybe the anger – that would undoubtedly erupt there. But he steeled himself, determined to tell her the truth, even the worst parts, even the parts she might never forgive. He would tell her from the start about his past. About coming up the ranks, being a bagman for Wally. Collecting money, delivering it, lots of it. So much that he figured Wally would never miss a little. And he’d begun to take a little off the top. Then a little more.
He’d stop then to explain about Wally’s temper. How he’d chopped a guy’s hand off because the guy had touched a woman he liked. How he’d thrown a guy off a bridge because he’d left Wally out of a real-estate deal. Blown up a guy’s dad’s house to get him to do business. He’d tell her how Wally had no conscience. How he wanted people to be afraid of him, so he didn’t hesitate to maim, kill, blow things up, smash things – like Harper’s window.
Once Vivian understood the kind of maniac Wally was, Lou would explain that Wally had found out he’d borrowed some money from him. And then he’d have to tell her the worst part, that Wally had taken Harper – and probably those two boys next door – as collateral. And it was his fault.
Lou took Vivian’s hands. How was he supposed to tell her about Harper? How could he tell her that, even if he paid Wally back, Wally was likely to make an example of him by doing something outrageous – killing him or those he loved? So not just Harper, but Vivian herself was in danger. Because of him.
Probably, she’d throw him out, have nothing to do with him after she found out Harper’s disappearance was his fault and her own life was at risk because of him. But he had to tell her. Couldn’t lie any more. Couldn’t ask her to go away with him on false pretenses.
If he was going to make a fresh start, he needed to come clean. And so, as Vivian waited beside him, he let go of her hands. And began.
‘After you hear this, Vivian, you’ll probably want me to get lost. And I won’t blame you.’
‘Ridiculous.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Nothing could be that bad.’
He turned and looked at her. Saw the strain. Looked away. Told himself just to spit it out. Took a breath. ‘First of all. My name. It’s not Lou. It’s Ed. Ed Strunk.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘I’ve had a lot of names over the years. In fact, I have a new one I’m about to start using now—’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Vivian, just hear me out. I’ve done some stuff – worked with some really bad people—’
‘No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t. The past is over; I don’t care about it. I have a past, too. Do you want to know everything I’ve ever done?’
‘This is different—’
‘It’s not. I promise you. We all have stuff in our pasts. Why would I want to hear every nasty detail of yours?’
‘Because my past – because there are consequences.’
She looked him flat in the eye. ‘So? So why now? Why are you choosing to tell me this now? Can’t you see how much stress I’m already under?’
He couldn’t help it. He needed to look at her. Her face was tired, her skin pale. But even now, with all her anxiety, her eyes were filled with tenderness. Lou reached over, put his hand on her cheek.
‘I’m telling you this now because I want you to go away with me. Marry me. Now. Let’s leave everything behind and start over fresh – we can go anywhere . . .’
Vivian’s mouth opened. Her arms encircled his neck; her body crushed against his. ‘Yes.’ She kissed him again and again. ‘Of course, I’ll marry you, Lou. Or Ed. Or whatever your real name is . . .’ Suddenly she sat back, the sparkle fading from her eyes.
Obviously, she was thinking about Harper. ‘Vivian. That’s part of what I have to tell you. Harper might not be able to come back until I’m gone.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think I know who took her. It’s because of me.’
And there it was, that look in her eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Fury. All of it and more.
‘But when I’m gone, I think they’ll let her go.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I have a plan. You and I leave. And then, when we’re gone—’
‘You know who took Harper?’ She stood, facing him. ‘Why didn’t you say something? Why haven’t you told the police? What kind of man are you, Lou – or whatever your name is? I’m calling that policewoman. You can tell her what you told me. And you know what? After you’re done telling her everything you know about my daughter, I want you to leave.’ Her hand went up and came down hard.
Lou felt the slap for a long time after it happened. The sting traveled along his skin like ripples on disturbed water. He sat still, the pain on his face echoing throughout his body and heart, and he stared at the bathroom door behind which Vivian loudly sobbed.
Harper leaned over the edge of the loft, peering through the shadows. Evan’s body sprawled on the barn floor, his head twisted in the wrong direction. His neck broken.
Shivering, she shimmied away from the edge, pushing the nail with wooden fingers, twisting her wrists, ignoring the dull pain of misdirected punctures and strained muscles. ‘Almost,’ she grimaced. ‘Just a few more jabs.’ She spoke out loud, trying to convince both herself and the baby that they would soon be free.
Wind howled, buzzing through loose beams. But otherwise, the barn was silent. Where was Sty? What was he doing? It would have taken both Evan and Sty to unload the armoire. Probably they’d done that while she’d been left alone. But whatever Sty was doing now, he’d be finished soon. He’d come looking for Evan. And for her.
Hurry, she urged herself. The nail got stuck; she must have jammed it into her numb flesh again. Damn. She pulled it back, felt another small warm dribble on her wrists. And lost her breath as a contraction lurched around her middle, choking, refusing to let go. Alone and freezing in the dark empty barn, she forced steady breaths, counting seconds to remind herself that the contraction would pass. Assuring herself and the baby that somehow they would be okay. Straining her ears for sounds of Sty. Clutching the nail.
Gradually, the stranglehold eased. Harper sat for a moment, mind muddled, teeth clenched with cold. How had she managed to get into this mess, putting her baby in danger? What a rotten mother she was, even before she’d given birth. She pictured Hank, holding a squirming newborn in his big calloused hands. Wondered if
he’d forgive her. If she’d see him again. But she was wasting time, needed to get back to ripping the bindings. She steadied the nail with freezing fingers and bent her raw and bloodied wrists, shoved the nail up. Oops, too fast – the nail slipped, fell from her grasp. Landed with a soft whoosh in straw. Damn.
Wailing in anger and desperation, she swung around to search for the nail, straining her back and shoulders, reaching down behind her body into the hay.
Hearing a rip as her hands separated.
Harper pulled her arms forward, stretching in delight. She wiggled her deadened fingers, quickly assessed the oozing punctures on her wrists, touched the crusty bump on her skull. Decided that her injuries weren’t life-threatening. Then, hurrying, she bent her legs, peeled duct tape off her ankles with fingers she couldn’t feel. Then, unsteadily, she stood, balancing on the heavy stumps that were her feet. And realized how close she was to the edge of the loft.
Harper backed away, steadying herself, wobbled over to the ladder and lowered a numb foot onto a rung, shifted her weight onto it, holding on with numb hands. Watching the door for Sty, she carefully climbed down, stepped around Evan’s broken body. And ran out the open door of the barn.
Sty threw the last of the branches over the armoire, climbed halfway up the hill and looked down. Couldn’t see the thing at all, even when he flashed his light on it. The snow around it was trampled, but the next storm would come in a day or two. Would cover it completely. Besides, nobody ever came out here. The place was abandoned; when they’d arrived, except for their own tire marks, the snow had been undisturbed.
He took a breath, looking over at the car they’d smashed against a tree. The body in the driver’s seat. Damn Evan. He’d been so proud of his solo kill. Defiant, even. He didn’t seem to comprehend the consequences of carelessness. Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he was out of control. Clearly, Sty was going to have to assert himself before Evan inadvertently led the police to them. He recalled the frames of designer glasses that unraveled Leopold and Loeb.
Meantime, they had their neighbor to dispense with. Sty grimaced, displeased at the thought. Evan had insisted they could use her in their studies, but frankly, Evan had zero depth when it came to science. If he had, he would realize that a woman could not be substituted for a man; in research, members of the test group had to share a basic profile, including age and gender. The subjects had to have similar characteristics to Sty himself; they had to be male, in good health, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, when they would least expect to face death. Sty had no interest whatever in studying the death of a woman – let alone a pregnant one. That experience was irrelevant; he could extrapolate nothing from it. No, the motorcycle lady’s death was merely pragmatic. With all she knew, they simply couldn’t let her live. But it was a nuisance, best accomplished quickly. Evan would simply have to control himself.
Speaking of which, he hadn’t seen Evan for too long. Where was he? Oh no – had he gone ahead, begun carving up the neighbor? Damn it. Sty turned, heading for the barn. Hurried up the hill, stepping carefully over fallen trees and snow-covered brush, envisioning what he might find. The door was open; he stepped in and flashed the light up at the loft. Saw no Evan. No woman.
‘Evan?’ His voice sounded hollow. ‘Are you up there?’
Nobody answered. He lowered the flashlight, aiming it across the floor toward the ladder. Froze for a moment when he saw what looked like Evan’s bandaged hand. Evan’s jacket. Evan’s face. Sty ran across the barn, screaming Evan’s name. Knelt beside the body, holding his head.
Sty scanned the area for Harper, but didn’t see her. Cursing, he got to his feet and headed out of the barn, catching sight of the woman as she stumbled down the hill.
The bathroom door finally opened. Vivian stepped out, her eyes red and swollen, her face and neck blotchy. She wore her silk robe, tightened the sash.
‘I’ve been thinking.’ She stepped over to the bed where he’d been sitting, waiting for her to emerge.
‘Sit down.’ He patted the mattress beside him.
Vivian sat. Dabbed her nose. ‘Harper is my daughter. My blood.’
Lou nodded. She was going to send him packing. He deserved it, too, after everything he’d done.
‘And, from what you’ve said, she wouldn’t be in trouble if not for you. The people who took her were really trying to send you a message, am I right?’
He nodded again. ‘Vivian. I’m so sorry. If I could take it back, in a heartbeat, I would. I’d do anything—’
‘I know that. Like I said, I’ve been thinking. You say that paying this guy back won’t help. He might not let Harper go anyway?’
‘It’s fifty-fifty.’
‘But if you take off, he might let her go?’
‘I’m not going to lie, Vivian. He might. He might not. He’d have no reason to hold her, but that’s no guarantee.’
Vivian folded her hands. ‘Then, no matter what we do, it sounds like there’s a fifty-fifty chance of Harper coming home. Which means you ought to take off. You should split while you can. Lou, I mean it. Do whatever you can, but get away from that sonofabitch and start fresh someplace else.’
Lou’s eyes filled. Was she really sending him away? Without her? What was the point of starting a new life if Vivian weren’t going to be with him?
‘Go, Lou. I mean it.’ She faced him, her eyes clear and loving. She touched his chest.
He covered her hand with his, squeezed. ‘But, Vivian. I don’t – I can’t leave without you.’ His voice broke. His shoulders slumped.
‘Get real, Lou. I can’t go anywhere while Harper’s missing.’
‘I understand.’ He understood why they called it a broken heart. His chest hurt; his heart felt as if it had been chopped in half.
‘She’s my blood, like I said. That’s why I’m here for her.’ Vivian reached for the Camels, lit one. ‘But honestly, Lou, I can’t make the guy who took her let her go. I can’t make her pregnancy go smoothly. I can’t control any goddamned thing for her.’ She inhaled. Exhaled smoke.
Lou waited, unable to speak or move. Afraid he’d crumble.
When Vivian continued, her voice was deep and ragged. ‘Truth is, I’m getting up in years. I can’t base my life on what my daughter needs. At some point, Harper’s got to fend for herself – and it’s not like she’s alone in the world. She’s got Hank. She’s got her fancy education. It’s me I need to worry about. I have needs, too, and I have to do what’s right for me; I deserve some happiness, too, don’t I?’
Lou didn’t understand at first. He gazed at her, uncertain.
‘So go, Lou. Set things up. I’ll stay here and see what happens with Harper. I’ll be here in case she comes home. And when you’ve got things together, I’ll follow as soon as I can. How does—?’
Vivian couldn’t say any more. Lou grabbed her so tightly, she could barely breathe.
Harper’s weak left leg kept caving in; her head hurt, her body felt sluggish, and she was shuddering from the cold, but she had to keep going. Had to get to the pickup truck. Had to remember where it was. She looked around, thought she saw it parked in a clearing down the hill. But Sty – had he seen her? Was he chasing her? She looked over her shoulder, slipped on an icy patch and went down, breaking the fall with unfeeling hands. Panting, pushing herself back onto her feet, she noticed a dark stain in the snow. Glanced at her hands, saw bloody gouges in her wrist, recalled her accidental thrusts of the nail. She felt no pain. Never mind. Shivering, panting, she looked again for Sty, saw no one, nothing moving, and started again for the truck. With any luck, the keys would still be in it. Otherwise, she’d have to mess with the wires.
Harper’s legs dragged. Unable to feel her feet, she had to test each step so she wouldn’t slip again. Her lungs burned with the cold as she grabbed onto tree trunks, pushed away low branches with hands that sensed nothing. Maybe she should sit a minute, catch her breath. She stopped and looked for a spot, saw one under a pine. Headed f
or it, but remembered she couldn’t sit; she had to get to the truck. She was almost there – it was only about fifty yards down the hill. But maybe that wasn’t right; maybe she wasn’t seeing things right. Because the truck had seemed only about fifty yards away when she’d started out, hadn’t it? Her body quaked as the wind gusted, passing through her, rattling her ribs. Searing her eyes. Why hadn’t she worn a coat? Her sweater was useless. In fact, she might as well take it off, leave it in the snow. And lie down for a minute. The ground looked soft, invited her to stretch out and rest. She knew she shouldn’t. But why again? She tried to remember. In fact, why was she outside? Where was she going? She stopped, looked ahead. Saw a truck down the hill. Yes, she was going to the truck. Not real sure why. She was tired, needed to sit.
‘No.’ Whose voice was that? Was someone there?
‘Keep going,’ it said. Harper didn’t have strength to argue. She pressed on, tottering on frozen stumpy feet toward a truck that seemed unreachable. She wrapped numb arms around her belly to keep the baby warm, vaguely remembering something about extreme temperatures. About freezing to death, how the limbs slowed down, became uncoordinated. How the body pulled all its heat to its core. She thought about that, how she couldn’t really feel her arms or most of her legs. But she wouldn’t freeze to death; she was Army, had been trained to survive in all kinds of conditions.
She slogged on, trying to recall what she was supposed to do. One step, another. She was so tired, tried to focus – couldn’t. Her mind was slow. She had all the symptoms, must be freezing. Actually, it wasn’t so bad; didn’t hurt. Seemed gentle. Easy. The snowy blanket, the huddled trees, the blank night sky would watch over her while she slept. She stopped, selecting a spot to curl onto.
