Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  They arrived at the third floor, and when they reached the small door at the end of the passageway, she opened it. It wasn’t completely dark, but it was murky and dust motes flew here and there. It smelled musty and old.

  Penny waved him forward. “Please go ahead of me. I’m scared of the dark.”

  He smiled in disbelief, then reminded himself many people didn’t like gloom. So he hurried, eager to get the radio. He took the rickety-looking stairs eagerly. At the landing two windows provided minimal light. He peered into the semi-darkness. Shapes loomed, furniture covered in sheets, boxes here and there, a pair of old high-top women’s shoes in one corner. He saw a small table amid a jumble of half open cardboard boxes. On it a stood a radio that looked at least thirty years old. He started forward when pain exploded in the back of his head and neck, and the world turned to midnight.

  * * *

  Cassie went upstairs and collected her coat before she went outside. Temperatures had dropped this morning. Although the resort had cooled down considerably inside, with the work they’d done lately Cassie found layering a couple of sweaters sometimes worked better than a coat. Going outside, though, was another matter. It felt around forty degrees outside. She returned downstairs and stepped out of the back of the resort and walked toward the parking lot. She made it a few steps before a hand grabbed her shoulder and swung her around. She gasped.

  Benson stood there, grinning from ear to ear, his hair a mess of tangled black. His eyes were dark and hot with emotions that threatened to boil forth. In the two or three times she’d seen him, he’d never smiled, so his jovial appearance now took her off guard. She’d also never paid much attention to what they looked like, but this time she was shocked into paying attention. He wasn’t much taller than her, but he wore a winter coat and she couldn’t be certain about his build. He’d looked ordinary when she’d seen him last. He tightened his grip on her shoulder, and it pinched. Pain pierced her shoulder.

  “Ow. What—” she started to say.

  “Quiet. He’ll hear.” His voice had a thick quality, as if he had a cold or hadn’t spoken in a considerable time.

  “Who?” She pulled out of his grip, but he latched on to her bicep.

  “Your lover.”

  Shit. Apprehension tingled through her and danced over her skin with a cold shiver. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  Before she could pull away, he produced a handgun. She froze as the trepidation of a second ago turned to outright fear. If she screamed he’d probably shoot her. If she didn’t resist God only knew what he planned.

  His smile faded, and the delight in his eyes went crystal hard. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere yet. Come on.”

  “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer, and his silence proved far more chilling than anything else could have. He gripped her bicep so hard, she winced and knew she’d have bruises. “Try to get away, and I’ll just shoot you. Don’t talk. Don’t say a word.”

  While the handgun poked her in the side, Cassie’s mind raced. She’d heard all the advice that suggested she struggle. Anything to get away. If he took her somewhere more isolated, he would kill her. She had no doubt of that. He herded her toward a bright orange sedan sitting next to Griff’s Charger. In a split second she decided her alternatives. Run and perhaps die. Stay with him and probably die. Better to take a chance and maybe survive. She kicked at his shin, using a sideways motion. He yelled as she connected with the side of his knee. She tore away and made a run for the side of the resort. If she could get into the street there had to be people. She poured on the speed, wishing like hell she’d been an Olympic runner.

  Heavy weight slammed into her back, her head hit something so hard it felt like concrete. Pain lanced her skull, and night came early.

  Cassie awakened to a nightmare. Or at least at first she thought she’d fallen asleep upstairs. God, I have a headache. Aspirin. The surface under her felt hard and rough and sent an ache through her body. She shifted and realized her arms and legs were splayed out. She shivered as a cool breeze enveloped her legs and traveled upward. She drew her arms into her body and crossed them, stuffing her hands under her armpits for warmth. With relief she felt her sweaters and jeans still on. She hadn’t gone to bed in her clothes.

  Wait. No. This didn’t feel like her bed.

  Panic started to rise. Wait. If she wasn’t in her resort room, where—

  Her eyes snapped open.

  The house on the Point.

  “No.” She stared around the room, each movement of her head a throbbing ache. Light streamed under the shutter slats and threw striped shadows on the walls. She listened hard but didn’t hear anyone.

  The house hadn’t changed since she’d seen it with Griff a few days ago. She couldn’t hear signs of life, not even wind outside. Taking more stock of her surroundings, she felt the rotten rug under her fingers. The nubbly texture made her shiver and wonder how many feet, how much death had crossed this material. The non-descript dark wood laminate coffee table sat half on the rug in front of the funky couch. It occurred to her, in a strange flash of annoying banality, that she might be trapped in a seventies nightmare. Before, when she’d been in the house with Griff, she hadn’t taken in the colors as well. Of course, it had been dark. Now she had sunlight to illuminate the room.

  She listened hard. Was Benson in the house? She didn’t hear him. Fear collided with her common sense. She needed to discover a way out of here and fast. She tried moving her head again and the pain darted from the base of her skull to the top of her head. What had he done to her? Shot her? No. He’d chased her and landed on her. Plowed her into the ground. She turned her head to the right and noted an ugly paint-by-numbers quality picture of a kitten on the wall to her right. The wood paneled walls reminded her of somewhere. Sometime. She fought to understand why all this felt familiar. It couldn’t. Before the furniture had seemed unfamiliar. Before…

  She rolled to her left side with a groan, then levered up on her elbow. As if she moved through molasses, she forced herself into sitting position. From here she took a longer, deeper examination of the room. What she saw scared her shitless. Almost more than anything else could. Now she understood why it felt familiar.

  “No way,” she whispered so low she barely uttered the words aloud.

  The green carpet, the coffee table, the picture on the wall…even the avocado kitchen counter—

  No. This house was different. She wasn’t in the weird house on the Point. The home had the same layout but this furniture didn’t match what she’d seen before.

  “Mother’s house,” she said. Her parents had owned a ranch house complete with brick fireplace, avocado kitchen counters. “The painting.”

  She swiveled to the painting. She’d made a paint-by-numbers like that when she was a kid. How could any of this be real? She eased to her feet as the fear and confusion built and threatened to strangle her. Obviously Benson had brought her here. She glanced around quickly as the ache in her neck subsided somewhat and pain in her skull dulled. She was grateful for any small thing at this point.

  She backed toward the front door. It didn’t matter where the madman hid, she needed to escape this crazy house. She bumped into the door, whipped around and twisted the doorknob. Nothing. It was locked from the outside. She tried again. Again. She leaned her forehead on the door in frustration. She swung around, half afraid Benson stood behind her.

  Please, help me. Griff, please.

  He wouldn’t know what happened to her.

  The side of her neck felt sticky, and when she touched her forehead she came away with red smears. Blood? She didn’t know. She walked toward the kitchen and ignored that the cabinets and floor were now a strange green. She reached the sliding glass doors leading out the back and tried unlocking them. The latch resisted. She yanked in frustration. Nothing.

  “What are you doing?”

  She whirle
d around and faced Benson, heart banging against her ribs. She drew in a steady breath to calm her pulse, but it didn’t work. Benson stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining area.

  He crossed his arms and leaned on the side of the door. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

  Honesty, she decided instantly, made sense. “Trying to escape.”

  He laughed and ran one hand over his short hair. It stood in spikes, greasy looking. He wore a short-sleeved white t-shirt and jeans with a hole ripped in the knee. His feet were bare. Standing as he was, he looked innocent. A man who didn’t plan to hide a thing or harm anyone. He was good looking even with his sharp, cold eyes. She dared look into those depths and a shiver raced over her skin. She no longer wore her coat, and she rubbed her arms. What had he done with her coat? Why had he left her lying on the rug? Why would any man do what he was doing right now short of appeasing his insanity?

  He smiled. “You’re very pretty.”

  He didn’t move, but his statement made her skin crawl. She didn’t want him to think of her as attractive. She remembered back to the way she’d talked to her ex-husband. The dance of agreement she’d given him most of their marriage. Then she recalled when he’d taken her hostage and the way she’d spoken to him. In the end it had saved her life, even if it hadn’t saved his. She hated complying, being under the thumb of anyone. For a while, perhaps just a little bit of time she’d have to be under someone’s thumb to survive.

  “Thank you for the compliment.” She moved slowly so that she stood in the doorway of the kitchen and across from him. As ridiculous as it felt, she smiled. “Why are we here?”

  Benson moved toward her until he stood in the middle of the kitchen. “Because I saw you and wanted you.”

  Wanted you.

  Her stomach churned and for a second she wanted to barf. Upchuck right there at his feet. Not only because fear resided deep inside her, so deep because she managed to shove it down where it was manageable.

  “I see. Why do you want me?” she asked.

  He reached for the shutters that covered the single kitchen window and flipped them open. They squeaked. “Because. I love this house. I’m glad I found it. It makes me feel normal. Having a woman in it completes the picture.”

  “How does it make you feel normal?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, and crossed his arms across his chest so he could hook his palms across his shoulders. Almost as if he comforted himself. He actually looked lost. Alone. Vulnerable for one tiny moment.

  “Mom isn’t here with me. I’m alone without a woman here.”

  “You’ve always had a woman in your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  She didn’t, but her skill at pretending, at pacifying, might save her life now as it had ten years ago.

  He tilted his head to the side like a dog. His ordinary look, his normal facade drove her tense up. Obviously he had something wrong with him. He might be a sociopath as her ex-husband was. She didn’t know anything for certain right now. Part of her roiled with hatred for him. How dare he do this when so much had already happened? So many suffered right this moment because Mother Nature had kicked their asses. What more would they have to endure? Had his mind broken into little pieces because of the EMP? No. She knew he must have stood on the edge, and something…who knew just what, had torn to shreds he last thread of his decency and reality. What she didn’t know could get her killed. What she did know might save her life.

  “I know your mother.” She took a deep breath and hoped she could talk around the fear creeping up her throat.

  He nodded and took another step forward. She tensed.

  “She’s a worthless bitch,” he said.

  The statement stunned her a little even when it shouldn’t. Anything that came from his mouth shouldn’t surprise her. “Why?”

  “Because she did what I wanted her to do.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She’s going to kill Griff.”

  Cassie’s throat went tight, her heart returning to a relentless hammering. “Why?”

  “Because then he can’t come here.”

  His simplistic answers kept her on edge. She didn’t move, too shocked by the new information.

  “Why would she do that?” she asked.

  He touched the yellow curtains over the window that were already pulled aside, with their ridiculous small blue flowers. He leaned against the sink, his hands curled around the edge of the sink as he peered out of the slats.

  “She wants him, and I want you. She told me if the world had to end we should have what we want.”

  Cassie’s mind spun like a top. “The world isn’t ending. We heard good news. The EMP wasn’t bad enough to destroy everything. We’ll spring back again. It’ll take time, but the world will survive.”

  He sniffed, his expression unchanging, as if she’d just told him that she’d bought toilet paper at a supermarket. “Huh.”

  Maddened by his cool and calm approach, she nevertheless decided to take advantage. “You can be the hero of the day.”

  “How?”

  “You can let me go.”

  He snorted. “Don’t see how that makes me a hero. It’s dumb. Women like to be dominated. They want to be told what and where to do things.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. The man had gone over at least one edge. “Did you tell your mother to kill Griff?”

  Please, please let Griff be all right.

  “Yeah. At first I thought she might turn me in. Then the EMP came.”

  His logic didn’t seem whole, but what did she expect. “Turn you in for what?”

  “She figured out what I’ve done all these years while I was in the Navy.”

  “What job did you do in the Navy?”

  “I was a military police officer. It gave me access to things many other people didn’t.”

  “Such as?”

  “Military bases. See, everyone tends to relax on a military base. Most people do anyway. And it’s understandable why they would. Military bases can be safe.”

  A sick sensation rose in her stomach. “Can be?”

  He shrugged. “Nowhere is safe. Don’t you understand that? Everywhere you walk, everything you do, there’s the chance something bad will happen to you. People are afraid all the time. My parents…well, my foster parents were sick fucks. They did a good job of hiding it. I’m not even going to tell you what they did to me.”

  His voice stayed cold, his expression devoid of emotion. Only the darkness in his eyes told her the truth. In her bones she felt what he said was true. His foster parents had done something to him.

  “You didn’t try to get away from them?”

  “More than once. No one believed me.”

  She took a deep breath, almost feeling as if she’d held it for a long, long time. “I’m so sorry.”

  He sniffed. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t fix it now, does it?”

  “Of course not.” She had a feeling if she didn’t keep talking he would make a decision, and that step would mean her death if she didn’t speak to him the right way. If she didn’t make him like her. If she didn’t think her way out of this mental maze.

  “You were in the military. So what does that have to do with your mother knowing that you’ve done something? Something bad?”

  He smiled, and yet the smile didn’t mean good humor or real laughter. On his face it was pure cruelty. He didn’t answer.

  “How did you find your mother?” she asked, determined to get him to explain, to give her more precious minutes. “Or did she find you?”

  “I found her. After I left my enlistment, I decided I needed to find the woman who made me.”

  Strange way to think of a mother, but it made sense to him apparently. “Oh, wait. You were asking me about the military bases, weren’t you?”

  His switch up took her off guard. “Yes.”

  A wider grin stretched his face, this one more feral animal than human
. “I was in the military two enlistments. Women trust men in uniform, especially if they’re military police. But there’s no guarantee, is there? I understood what so many others don’t. Since there isn’t any place safe, and everywhere is scary…” He paused and licked his lips. “Then I should contribute to that fear any way I know how.” He threw up his hands. “After all, if people are spending their entire lives fearful of their own shadow, to step outside their own doorway, then I can help them create that reality. That’s so powerful.”

  Now his truth came out, and it chilled her to the bone. “You create worlds for people. If they’re fearful, you’ll make it worse for them. Give them what they expect.”

  “Yes.” His grin went wider. “You understand me perfectly.”

  No. No she didn’t. “Is that why you’ve been in this place? Were you here somewhere when Griff and I came in?”

  Once more his smile grew wide. “Yes.”

  “Where were you? Why couldn’t we find you?”

  “Because I’m part of the house. I faded in like fabric in a curtain.” He touched the curtains again. “Or in the rug. Or in the wood floor. Anytime I want, I can disappear into these parts of the house.”

  A shuddering breath left her lungs. “How? How is that possible?”

  “First time I came in here earlier this week, I understood what this place is.”

  “What is it?”

  “A portal to darkness. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you sense that this place isn’t normal?”

  She almost snorted a laugh. He was asking her when he obviously didn’t know jack about normal? “Yes.” Yes, it was true. “Have you always felt different, Benson? Since you were a child?”

  “Of course. My foster parents knew that. Now my real mother does.”

  “Is she different, too?”