THIRTY-SEVEN
I am counting my steps, and my tally so far is two thousand two hundred twenty-three. I hear scratching noises sometimes, and what I’m sure must be footsteps, but when I shine my light there is nothing there.
The wall drops away and I am at a crossroads. I can go into a chamber to my left, continue straight ahead or turn right and keep following the wall. Heading right and staying with the wall is my best shot at keeping my bearings, but it’ll be no good if I’m going the wrong way. I shine the light at my feet, close my eyes and listen. If someone is close I might be able to hear.
I don’t want to let go of my wall. I know how dangerous it is, this wandering. Never go alone, take rope, bring three sources of light. Always let someone know where you are and when you’ll be back. I choose the wall, making my marks and counting my steps.
It is the echo that saves me, the sound of a generator somewhere close. The noise seems to come from my right, but behind me as well. I stand still and there’s a sudden sound, like someone has shut a door at the bottom of a well. I backtrack, one hand along the wall until the damp rock drops away. I don’t hear the noises anymore.
Panic comes in a wave. There is no forward, no backward, nothing but dark. I have no idea which way to go, where to find the girls, the noise I heard or the entrance of the cave. I tremble with an overwhelming urge to run. I stand still instead, taking deep breaths.
And then I hear things, small noises that bounce off the rocks before they’re absorbed by the walls. There are voices, like you hear in dreams. I feel the presence of people, am aware of tiny smells, a difference in the air pressure where before there was a sensory void. I move toward the voices and hear, again, the generator’s tell-tale hum.
There is light ahead, diffused, hazy, strange. It leaks from the edges of small, boarded-up windows. There is a monstrous presence in the darkness. The dark outline of an RV.
I have found it. Caro and Andee’s prison.
The hinged door opens abruptly and voices of men drift toward me. I can hear an undercurrent of continuous sobbing, my granddaughter’s exhausted cry. So she is alive, my Andee. She is well enough to cry.
I drop and lie flat on my belly, crawling slowly, with such care, inching closer to the RV. The floor is dry and cold and gritty. I stay flat and silent, lurking to one side.
‘They don’t go anywhere till I get my cut. After that, you can take them with you, if you want to do it. Smartest thing be to leave them with me.’
I am held by the power of that voice. It takes me back to the afternoon where Cletus Purcell sat across from me over coffee and I faced the flatness, the odd lack of reflection in his eyes. It is Purcell that I remember. I have dreamed of him for years.
‘That’s fine.’ Harvey’s voice. ‘But we need to head out. We have to wind this up now, Cletus.’
‘I don’t like it.’
The tension is strong between them, strong enough that I can feel it out here.
‘Look, just lock them back up.’ Harvey’s voice. ‘We’ll go to the car together – it’s not that far. Let’s split the cash and decide what to do from there.’
I hear layers of meaning in Harvey’s words. Let’s go get the money, then I’m out of here, and you can do what you want with the hostages.
But, of course, there is no money. Just twists, turns, more games ahead.
Purcell makes a sound that I take for agreement. Evidently he reads Harvey’s subtext the same way. Harvey is an expert, after all, at being whoever he needs to be. Salesmen are vulnerable to pitches from other salesmen. Maybe serial killers affect each other the same way.
The RV shakes as the two men come out, the weight of them rocking the steps. Neither speaks to Caroline and Andee. I wonder what it’s like for my girls inside, being discussed like a carcass of meat.
The door clicks shut, followed by the sound of a heavy plank of wood sliding into place. I can free the bolt of wood from outside the door, and hope rises inside me like helium, only to sink when I hear the chirp of a keyless lock.
I wait until I can no longer hear the murmur of Harvey and Purcell’s conversation, and the sound of their footsteps fades. I look out from my hiding place, but they’ve been swallowed by the dark. I stand very still, I hold my breath. I count to one hundred, slowly, three times. It is disturbingly quiet inside the RV.
I shine my light in all directions. There are damp spots and puddles, but I can detect no one watching from the surrounding dark. I turn the light to the door. A two-by-four of lumber has been placed to bar it shut, cradled in a newly installed metal hasp. There is a back-lit keyless entry pad installed by the door, and a warning sticker that says STOP – Protected By – Flagship Sentry™ Digital Security System. The wood plank is awkward, but no trouble once I set my flashlight on the front step. I glance over my shoulder, not that it does much good. It’s too dark for me to see.
The keyless entry pad is a problem. The light in the panel means it’s working. I can smash the lock with a two-by-four, but I am worried it will set off an alarm.
I knock softly on the door. ‘Caro. Andee. It’s Joy, can you hear me?’
‘Joy?’
The voice comes from the window by the steps, and I see the tips of Caro’s fingers. She has dug out behind the wood boarding up the opening and it gives her a peephole so she can see. I can hear Andee as well, but I can’t make out her words.
‘Where are they?’ Caroline asks.
‘They’re headed out to Harvey’s car – we drove it into the cave. Listen, Caro, there’s an alarm on the doorway. I can break the lock with this plank of wood, but the alarm has to be wired up to a battery somewhere inside. If you can disconnect it we won’t have to worry about some kind of siren going off and bringing the men back.’
‘Don’t you have the police with you?’ her voice squeaks. ‘You can’t be here alone.’
‘It’s just me, for now. Look, it’s complicated, I’ll explain later. But the FBI is on the way. In the meantime, we need to get the two of you out. Purcell—’
‘Don’t say it,’ she warns me, and I think of Andee. ‘He’s let us see him. He’s not wearing the ski mask today.’
So Purcell will come back to kill them, unless Harvey kills him first.
‘The alarm battery isn’t in here,’ Caroline says. ‘I’ve already gone over every inch of this place. I think it used to be hooked into the closet light, there’s a place where it looks like they took it out. The battery’s got to be outside the RV, and it can’t be too far away. Look underneath for wires.’
I crouch beside the RV and shine the light, walking all the way around. On the other side I see wires. I pick them up in one hand and follow them, nearly tripping over the twelve volt battery that sits about twenty feet away. There are two leads of double stranded wire, and I unwind and disconnect them both.
I run back to the front of the RV and knock hard on the door.
‘Joy, did you find it?’
‘Yeah.’ The entry pad is dark now. Success.
I unbolt the door and use the two-by-four to smash the lock. The first two blows are off target, The wood is awkward and hard to aim. The third time I clip the lock hard and bend the hasp. It takes a serious effort to yank it free of the wood, then the lock slides off and hits the ground.
The door flies open and Caroline stares at me, blinking, bathed in light. I take a step forward and see Andee, huddled behind her mother.
There is the strangest moment, infinitesimal and surprising, where the three of us freeze – me at the door, Caroline just inside and my little granddaughter, Andee, huddled under a built-in table, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. The smell inside the RV reminds me of the unique scent of a newborn and mother, the first hours after birth. Later I will remember all of it, a color-wheel of detail, as if my mind were a sponge of sensation, going from bone dry to drenched.
It is surprising how new and nice it is inside, and there is a certain sense of wonder, with this compact hom
e on wheels. I remember beige – the carpet, the walls, the upholstery on the couch and chairs. The appliances and counter tops are of stainless steel and granite and I suspect this little prison cost somebody more than my house.
And then we all move at once, coming together in the entrance. The music of our voices and our tears send echoes into the dark. The bond that connects the three of us, that silver cord of love, brings us together in a rare harmony of feeling we will only know again in the memory we retain. We embrace our life and the imminent possibility of our death.
Caro smiles at me. She does not seem afraid anymore. She is young, still.
I hold Andee up high in my arms and settle her snugly upon my hip. She feels as warm as a tiny coal fire. She traces my tears with a slender, grubby finger.
‘They’ll be back,’ I say to Caro.
She nods quickly. ‘Do you know the way out?’
I frown, making the impossible judgment. ‘I think I can get us out, but we’ll have to go slow.’
She bites her lip. ‘Hide then? Till they’re gone or we’re stormed by the cops?’
‘The FBI is on the way and Harvey knows it.’
‘Which one is Harvey? The new guy? Do they think you have ransom money? Are they crazy stalkers from your old cable show?’
‘We can talk this out or we can hide. Later, OK?’
She nods.
‘Nina, why are you wearing tennis shoes with a pretty dress?’
‘Andee,’ Caroline says. ‘Go get one of those plastic garbage bags out of the kitchen, and put in three water bottles and the candy bars in the cabinet by the sink. We’re going on a big adventure, just the three of us girls together, and you have to do your part.’
‘What’s my part?’
‘To listen when Nina and I talk to you. To do exactly what we say. And to be good.’
Andee’s eyes are little circles of exhaustion, but her mother’s words ignite a spark. ‘But Mommy, after the adventure, can we please go home?’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Caro and I disconnect the generator. The silence is eerie after the hum. We make sure to keep Andee snug between us, with the flashlight on, from the moment the lights go out.
Andee is shivering. She wears a thin cotton shirt, long-sleeved, and a worn, wrinkled pair of brown corduroy jeans. She and her mother had dressed in a panic the night they were kidnapped, grabbing the clothes that came to hand. I know that Caro must be cold as well, in blue jeans and a short-sleeved tee. I take Harvey’s heavy sweater off and pull it gently over Andee’s head.
We stand together for a moment in front of the dark RV. We’ve replaced the plank of wood, bolting it across the door. It is Caro’s job to count our steps, and mine to find the way. I take the lead and Caro brings up the rear. We keep Andee between us. We have told her that we’re all a train and must stay connected by holding hands no matter what.
‘Nina,’ Andee whispers after we’ve gone a way. ‘I want to hold the light.’
I hear the fear in her voice, which I balance against the time we have and our need to move. I wonder if the batteries in the flashlight are fresh.
Caro’s voice floats up from behind. ‘Nina is the leader, so she has to have the light.’
‘You have three turns when you can hold the light,’ I tell Andee. ‘Don’t use them up too fast.’
‘I need one now.’
Caro starts to protest, but I say OK. If Andee gets hysterical from the dark and the closed-in feeling, her cries will echo and draw the predators close. A few moments now may save us panic on down the way.
I place Andee’s small fingers around the flashlight and guide her to the switch.
‘I want to hold it myself, Nina.’
‘That’s against the rules.’
Andee shines the light beneath her chin. ‘Don’t I look like a skeleton, Nina?’
But now I can hear men’s voices. Purcell and Harvey are back.
‘Shit,’ Caro says.
‘Do you hear them, Nina?’ Andee whispers.
‘It’s quiet time, baby. Tiptoe.’
We move quickly and the wall gives me nothing more now than balance. I don’t have time to think things through, to keep any kind of track of our path. It’s the distance that matters now. The darkness will swallow us and keep us safe.
In the background, I hear masculine voices that fade as we turn a corner. Just as I think we have a chance, a shattering of sound echoes everywhere. Gunfire. Spurts and flashes of light, the smell of cordite, the sound of running feet.
Andee’s screams are like breaking glass inside my heart. Caro shouts ‘Run’, and instinct takes over. Fear keeps us moving and we whip together holding hands, a human chain of fear. I keep the flashlight pointed ahead so we can see where we go. Knowing that if we can see our path, so can others.
And then my light catches a reflection. Water. A lake rises up like a miracle. Is it the same one I saw on the way in, I wonder? Are we close to the entrance of the cave?
‘We can hide here,’ Caro says. She swings into the lead and wades straight in. We’re ahead of the men, but they’re close. If we float quietly and duck under the water, they may simply pass us by.
The water is an ice cold shock. It hits me right at the waist, and my dress billows and rises. My legs, exposed in thin nylons, go numb with cold. It is noisy, all the splashing, and we have to slow down, to keep it quiet. Caro pulls Andee along behind her and I bring up the rear. My teeth are chattering hard, but Caro keeps us on the move. I keep expecting Andee to cry, but she stays very quiet. We are absorbed in the energy of fear.
My next step finds nothing, and I go down. It is like falling through a trap door. I am under water, plummeting deeper and deeper into darkness. I don’t know which way to go.
Something tugs my left hand. It is Andee, still holding tight. I’m pulling her down with me, and I need to break the grip. Just as the thought comes I find myself being yanked hard and now it is not just Andee, but Caro, who has hold of my arm. Then I am being dragged until my head is out of the water, and my ankle hurts, but I can breathe again. There is air, and noise, and hair plastered in my face, and nothing makes any sense.
Caro is crying and calling my name, and someone lifts me up. It is Reginald Harvey who gets me back on my feet.
I sputter and choke. I am alive, but we are discovered. Cletus Purcell has a gun in his left hand, and in the other shines a light.
The look he gives Harvey is puzzled. ‘Should of let nature take its course.’
‘Hostages,’ Harvey says. He shakes his head at me. ‘The FBI is swarming the place. We didn’t make it back to the car.’
‘Plan C,’ Purcell says, matter-of-factly.
And Harvey agrees. ‘Plan C.’
‘There’s another way out of here,’ Purcell tells us. ‘It’s not too pleasant, but it’ll do the trick. Anybody starts to making noise and I’m gonna snap me some necks.’ He reaches out suddenly, scooping Andee up. ‘You ladies can come along or stay. But I’m taking the kid with me.’
Andee kicks and squeals like an outraged pig, and Purcell clamps a monster hand across her mouth. ‘Give me trouble, little girl, and I’m gonna twist your Mama’s head till I break it right off.’
Andee freezes in his arms. If I had a gun I would shoot him just for the pleasure. I look at Caro and see she’d do exactly the same, except she’d take the time to torture him first.
All the guilt that has compressed my heart for the last fourteen years melts away. Just like that. I remember now, what it feels like, when you have to do what you do. I know what many before have discovered. It is not the good who survive.
THIRTY-NINE
We slog through the water. I am electrified. Alert.
Purcell leads the way, with Andee riding piggyback on his shoulders. I see Caro reach out and stroke her daughter’s back. I walk behind her, shivering hard, teeth chattering, and Harvey brings up the rear.
I am changing and adapting and Joy Miller the evangelist i
s gone. I am a survivor with a mission. I will do whatever I must. There is freedom with my fear. I am ready.
I lost my flashlight in the water, but both men are shining their lights. It takes all of our energy to stay on our feet, but I am keeping up. I think of being warm again; somewhere I am not afraid and can see the light of day.
Purcell stops. We have come to a sheer wall of rock and boulders.
Purcell knows where he’s going. He is long-legged and wiry, and he scrambles up a cluster of boulders, one arm clamping Andee to his side. He climbs a good twelve feet, stopping on a narrow ledge. I can’t see where he plans to go until his light catches a small opening, eighteen inches high and two feet wide.
My mouth goes dry. I know that I cannot follow. Claustrophobia rises, and I’m not even aware that I’m moving backward until I bump into Harvey, who clamps me tight in his arms.
Caro is already climbing, and Purcell stops and shines his light at me. I know I’m not impressive, hair wet and plastered to my head, skin blue with cold, torn dirty silk dress that clings like a second skin.
I shake my head. ‘No.’
Purcell points his gun. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘No, no, Nina.’ Andee’s wail echoes, and the sound of it makes the hair stand up on my neck.
‘Shhh, little girl, shhh.’ Harvey sounds confident, even friendly. ‘Nina’s just a little scared, that’s all. You need to be brave and show her how it’s done.’
It’s illogical, this mix Harvey always engenders, this gratitude and rage. A moment of kindness to my granddaughter, while manipulating her to what may well be her death.
Caro is up on the ledge now. I can tell she is looking down at me, but I’m pinned in the light. I can’t see her face.
‘Come on, Joy,’ she tells me. ‘You can do this, I know you can. We need you. We need to all stay together.’
I take another step backward and Harvey holds me harder, keeping me in place.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. And I am. Very sorry. But there is no way I can go into that passageway.
I turn suddenly and try to run, but Harvey is ready, and doesn’t let me go.
A voice booms from the darkness, and all of us freeze.
Even In Darkness--An American Murder Mystery Thriller Page 19
