The Ex Who Glowed in the Dark (Charley's Ghost)

by Berneathy, Sally

  “I can do that. And I’m making a note that you admitted I’m faster than you.”

  “Fine. You’re also deader than me. Go!”

  Keeping as close to the ground as possible, Amanda crept to the nearest shed. Long summer evenings were wonderful, but she could have used some early darkness to hide her movements.

  Something snagged the leg of her jeans and she whirled around, adrenalin pumping, ready to die or do battle or both.

  A jagged piece of metal from one of the rusted implements had caught in the denim. She reached down and tugged it away, but it gave her an idea. She could at least arm herself with something sharp.

  She found a broken piece of pipe an inch in diameter and a couple of feet long. It was better than nothing.

  As she crept closer on legs that felt like overcooked spaghetti, she made an effort to be quiet. That effort included not screaming when she bumped her shin on another piece of machinery hidden in the weeds.

  The door to the shed was closed with a sliding bolt but didn’t seem to be locked. She pressed close to the wall and slid the bolt slowly open, flinching with every crunch it made as she forced it past the rust.

  When she finally got the door open a crack, she peered in and saw shelves holding an assortment of ancient tools. Not surprising there was nothing else. That bolt hadn’t been moved for a long time.

  She backed out and turned to go to the other shed.

  Charley settled to the earth beside her. “What have you got in your hand? That doesn’t look very clean. Your mother would freak out if she saw you carrying that. Put it down.”

  Amanda shook the piece of pipe at him. “This is the best I can do for a weapon.”

  Charley flinched backward as if she might really be able to hit him. “Great weapon. Give somebody a case of tetanus.”

  “Unless you’ve got a better suggestion, it’ll have to do right now. Was Grant in the barn?”

  “No.”

  “He’s not in here either. I’ll check the other shed and you check the cellar.”

  Charley cringed. “Not the cellar. You know I have claustrophobia.”

  Amanda looked at him in amazement. The sunlight bounced off his blond hair and highlighted his blue eyes, just as in life. And just as in life, he whined.

  “Claustrophobia?” she repeated. “Really? The walls closing in on you? Make you feel like you can’t breathe?”

  He nodded.

  “You can go through the walls, and you’re not breathing anyway.” She hesitated, not completely certain about the latter. “You’re not breathing, are you?”

  Charley considered the question for a moment then shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then go check the cellar.” She turned toward the second shed, remembering at the last moment to crouch and be stealthy.

  The second shed held a push lawn mower—obviously not used for a very long time—and various rusted yard implements, but no small boy.

  Charley darted back to her side. If they hadn’t just established that he didn’t breathe, she’d have sworn he was breathless. “Grant’s tied up in the cellar!”

  Relief washed over Amanda. They’d found him. “So he’s still alive?”

  “Yes. He’s alive, but Dawson’s in there with him and I can’t tell if he’s alive or not.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Dawson?” Amanda remembered the bundle she’d seen the two men taking from the car, the one she’d thought might be a body. Dawson? “What do you mean you don’t know if he’s alive? Is he breathing? Did you see his ghost?”

  “He’s tied up in a chair, but he’s all slumped over. I didn’t stay long enough to tell if he’s breathing. No, I didn’t see his ghost. That’s a creepy question.”

  Amanda had to believe that meant Dawson was still alive. She couldn’t accept anything else. But any chance she could leave to summon help had been taken away. They had to get Dawson and Grant out immediately then somehow get help for Dawson if he was hurt.

  She looked at her watch. “It’s five thirty. The deadline is six o’clock. They should be leaving here soon to check the locker and see if Dawson dropped off the thumb drive.” She lifted a hand to her mouth in horror. “What am I saying? Dawson can’t drop off anything if he’s here!”

  “Oh. Good point.”

  “Go back in the house and see if you can find out what’s going on.”

  He disappeared into the house and she moved closer to the weed-covered mound as if by that effort she could somehow make contact with the captives. The wooden door that slanted along one side was rough and old, but it was solid. It would not be easy to lift.

  Several moments later Charley appeared at her side. “The good news is, Dawson must still be alive. The bad news is, I know that because they’re talking about killing him and Grant now.”

  “Now?” The word caught in Amanda’s throat. “They’re going to kill them now? It’s only five-thirty! They gave us until six!” She knew she was being illogical. Dawson wasn’t going to be delivering anything so all bets were off, but she couldn’t take it in. Her friend couldn’t be killed. His brother who slept with the one-eared stuffed dog couldn’t be killed. Somehow she had to stop that from happening.

  “Brendan knows Dawson doesn’t have the program,” Charley continued. “Apparently he went back to Dawson’s apartment after everybody left and drugged him then he brought Dawson and all those computers out here. These people are computer nerds. They talk like Dawson does, all those funny words. They’re trying to find the program, but they don’t know for sure it’s even on one of the computers. They’re not happy, and they’re arguing about what they should do with Dawson and Grant. Brendan thinks they should make one more effort to see if either of the boys can find the program, but the woman wants to kill them immediately.”

  Amanda shook her head in denial. “That just can’t be right! It’s not six o’clock yet!”

  “Really? People who commit murder and kidnapping fail to keep their word, and that surprises you?”

  Amanda opened her mouth to remind him how often he’d failed to keep his word and how often she’d been surprised at those betrayals, then decided recriminations could wait until Dawson and Grant were safe. “What do we do now?”

  Charley shrugged. “Rush in and rescue the boys?”

  “Right. Any idea how we go about that?”

  “You rush in and rescue them, and I’ll keep watch.”

  “Good plan.” Amanda intended for her comment to sound sarcastic, but Charley was right. It came down to something that simple. She had no other choice.

  Clenching the piece of pipe that suddenly seemed very small, she made an effort to swallow her fear. “Okay.” The word came out a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “If those people start to come out of the house, I’ll whistle.”

  “How about you just come tell me?”

  “That would work too.” Charley disappeared into the house again and Amanda crept toward the cellar.

  It was uncomfortably close to the back door, which, of course, made sense. If the family who’d built the place had to dash through strong winds and heavy rain to get to shelter, they needed it close. But that meant anybody who looked out the window would be able to see her creeping through the weeds.

  She reached the door and laid down the pipe so she could grasp the rusted metal handle with both hands. Heart pounding, stomach clenched into a knot, she pulled upward. At first nothing happened.

  Where was that adrenalin rush people were supposed to get in emergencies that enabled them able to lift cars and carry a person under each arm from a burning building?

  She tugged harder and the door began to rise. When this was over, she was going to take up weight lifting. Finally she got the door open and lowered it to the side as quietly as possible.

  Grabbing the piece of pipe, she started down the steps into the musty interior then stopped when her eyes adjusted to the gloo
m. The rock wall in the back was lined with shelves holding a lot of dust and Mason jars filled with unidentifiable contents, some of which were oozing over the sides.

  Two people sat in front of that wall.

  The boy she’d seen in the picture the kidnappers sent looked toward her, blinking in the sudden burst of sunlight from the open door. He was tied in a ladder-back wooden chair. He’d aged since the day before. His young face was gaunt and his eyes were filled with pain and terror. Amanda’s heart clenched. Nobody so young should have to go through something like that.

  Dawson slouched in a similar chair, also tied with a rope, his hands behind him. He must be still alive or they wouldn’t have tied him up.

  Anger at the people who did this emboldened her. She hurried down the remaining few steps. “Are you Grant?”

  He nodded, the movement jerky.

  “Are you okay?”

  Another nod.

  “Is Dawson…okay?”

  Grant looked at his brother and shivered. “I think so. They drugged him. That man, Scott, he pretended to be his friend and then he drugged him. They’re going to kill both of us.”

  Scott? Was he talking about Brendan? Nobody else had pretended to be Dawson’s friend.

  She didn’t have time to think about that at the moment. “No, they won’t kill you. I won’t let them.”

  Grant made a weak effort to smile. “You’re Amanda, aren’t you? I knew you’d come. Dawson always said you were his friend and you could do anything.”

  A surge of happiness that Dawson considered her a friend washed over Amanda at the same time her heart dropped to her stomach because she had no idea what she could do to save them.

  Nevertheless she firmed her jaw. She wasn’t going to let Dawson or this small boy down.

  Grant was tied with rope a little thicker than clothesline and very difficult to untie. Amanda had a knife…in the pocket of her jacket which was back with her motorcycle. Lot of good it did her now. She laid her pipe on the floor and, with fingers that trembled, she fumbled with the knots that looped around Grant’s body and restrained his wrists. The boy held his small hands still, helping her as much as he could. She fervently hoped she’d have the chance to hurt the people who did this before it was over.

  Charley darted in. “Hurry. They’re getting ready to come down here, and the woman’s got a gun.”

  “I need a few more minutes. Distract them.”

  “And just how am I supposed to do that? Tap one of them on the shoulder? Yell at him?”

  “What? Distract who?” Grant asked.

  “Nothing. Go haunt a computer. Not you, Grant.” Maybe the boy was under so much stress, he wouldn’t remember the strange things she was saying.

  “So all I’m good for now is making computers go wonky? No respect for the dead.” Charley left through the nearest wall.

  Dawson groaned. He was alive.

  The first knot in Grant’s ties finally came loose and Amanda wanted to shout with joy at the small victory. She didn’t, of course. They were far from being out of there.

  Even though her fingers were slick with sweat in addition to trembling, the other knots were easy after the first couple.

  As soon as she freed the last one, Grant flung the ropes off and shot up from the chair to go to his brother’s side. He knelt next to him and started tugging on his ropes.

  “Let me do that,” Amanda said. “I have experience. See if you can wake him up.”

  Dawson groaned again.

  “Dawson, it’s Grant. Can you hear me?”

  Amanda squatted behind him and began twisting the knots. She’d done it before. It should be easier this time.

  It wasn’t. Her shaky, sweaty fingers slipped on the rope which refused to budge. How long could Charley entertain the killers with his computer tricks?

  Her breathing sounded loud and harsh to her own ears, so loud she was sure Brendan and his buddies could hear her even if they were still in the house.

  Grant held his brother’s face between his hands. “Dawson, you need to wake up. We’re in trouble, and you need to wake up now.” Despite the nightmare situation, his voice was steady. He was bound to be terrified, but he was successfully fighting the panic.

  Grant was, as Dawson had said, a brave little boy. He deserved to live to be a brave man. She ordered her fingers to relax, to be methodical about getting the knots undone.

  Charley burst into the cellar. “Amanda, get out! Now! They’re coming!”

  Amanda thought her heart rate had peaked already, but she was wrong. “Grant, you need to leave.” She tried to speak calmly, but even to her own ears her words were squeaky and tense. “Those people are coming. Get out before it’s too late.”

  In contrast to her breathing, her fingers seemed to move in slow motion as she twisted ineffectually at the knots.

  “I’m not leaving without my brother,” Grant said.

  Dawson moaned and mumbled. He was coming around, but it might be too late.

  The first knot came loose. Amanda almost cried with relief. “We’ll be right behind you. Go for help. Run. Now.”

  The next knot was almost free. All they needed was a few more seconds. A few more seconds and they could escape, run through the weeds, get back to the highway, call Jake and Sunny and her father and even her mother, drink a cold Coke, eat a hot pizza—

  “What the hell?”

  Amanda’s heart sank to the bottom of her feet at the sound of Brendan’s voice.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Noooooo!” Grant’s small form hurtled toward the three people silhouetted in the doorway. He flung himself at the bald man standing on the bottom step next to Brendan who was barely recognizable without his tinfoil and glasses.

  The bald man grabbed Grant’s arms, but the boy struggled, twisting and kicking, trying to get free, trying against all odds to subdue the older, larger man.

  Grant was brave, but Amanda wasn’t sure how smart he was. Attacking their captors probably guaranteed they were all going to die right there in that musty old cellar. Amanda found herself suddenly strangely calm. Her hands were no longer trembling. Her heart continued to race but she felt no panic, only anger at the people who’d taken this boy, drugged her friend, tied them up and stuffed them in this dark dungeon.

  Though she knew the sheer idiocy of her actions, she couldn’t let Grant take the defense alone. With a sigh of resignation, she gathered her energy, charged across the packed dirt floor and launched herself at Brendan.

  “Amanda!” Charley shouted. “Stop that! Are you crazy?”

  To her surprise Brendan fell to the floor from the force and suddenness of her attack. She had him down.

  Now what?

  Her father had taught her to shoot but not to fight.

  Never again would she leave her gun at home, not even if she was just going to the library.

  Brendan shoved her off, pushed her to the floor and started to rise. She aimed a motorcycle-booted foot at his groin. His shriek of pain told her she’d aimed true.

  A gunshot echoed loudly in the small confines of the cellar and one of the jars on the back wall exploded. The sound bounced around the small space, ringing through Amanda’s head, and the broken jar released a noxious odor that overpowered the smell of gunpowder.

  She rolled away from Brendan while he grasped his crotch and called her rude names. She lifted her head to see if Grant had been shot. The boy still squirmed in the grasp of the bald headed man, the man she’d seen the day before in the ominous beige van.

  “Stop, both of you!” The mousy woman from the van stood on the second step waving a Glock as if it were a club, her finger resting on the trigger.

  Jake and Ross were right. The woman didn’t know much about shooting, which meant she was more dangerous with that gun than if she knew what she was doing.

  “Grant!” Amanda pushed to her feet and started toward the boy but Brendan grabbed her arm. His grip wasn’t strong, and she suspected he was sti
ll experiencing some pain in his groin. She certainly hoped so. “Get your hands off me, you filthy traitor, or I’ll kick you again. You need to get out of the gene pool anyway.” She tried to shrug him off, but he wrapped his other arm around her neck.

  Charley appeared in front of her, shaking his head. “Damn it, Amanda, you never did know when to give up!”

  “Give up?” She tried to push Brendan’s arm away from her throat. “Are you seriously saying I should give up?”

  Brendan tightened his hold on her neck. “Giving up would be a very good idea.”

  “He’s right,” Charley said. “You’re in a position of weakness. That means you’ve got to be smart, and the first step is to lull them into believing you’re defeated. Kicking the man in the balls and calling him a traitor isn’t a good way to do that.”

  Leave it to Charley to know the proper way to work a con. Of course, that was his field of expertise.

  She made a monumental effort to cease struggling for her freedom. It went against every fiber of her being, but Charley was right. The odds were against them. They had to pretend to acquiesce, bide their time and figure out how to get away.

  She groped at her side and was able to touch Grant’s small arm. “Stop,” she said quietly. She wanted to explain the way Charley had explained it to her, to reassure the boy they weren’t giving up, just making a tactical retreat. “It’ll be all right.” That was the only thing she dared say. It would probably defeat the purpose of being sneaky if she made a public announcement about their strategy.

  As if he sensed her thoughts, Grant stilled. The man holding him shoved him across the room. “Get back in the chair.”

  Grant turned a frightened gaze toward Amanda. She nodded and tried to look confident instead of panic-stricken. He moved to the chair and quietly resumed his seat beside Dawson who had ceased groaning and sat eerily still and silent. That revved up her panic several levels.