by Stevan Mena
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Thank You
Dedication
Blank Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
TRANSIENCE
Stevan Mena
Dark Circle Press • New York
Published by Dark Circle Press
Copyright © 2006 by Stevan Mena
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9910005-1-7
All characters in this book are fictitious, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
www.darkcirclepress.com
Thank you Guy Cohen, I will never forget.
For Diane, Samantha and Victoria
CHAPTER 1
The ghastly smell of the burlap bag that suffocated her for most of the trip lingered on her face and hair. Her own dripping sweat still reeked of its pungent, mildewed odor. It had made her want to vomit. Now the remnants of its awful smell kept her focused as she raced through thick, jagged branches, determined to live. Sharp stones jutting from the uneven ground jabbed and sliced into her bare feet mercilessly. No fear of injury. The alternative was death.
She maneuvered through the endless woods, glancing back just once — he was gaining on her, only a few strides behind. She threw her forearms up to cover her face and dashed right through serrated bushes, the thorny brush ripping up her thin white sundress, tearing at her soft flesh. She imagined she was a rabbit, sprinting from a hungry dog. The analogy kept her from breaking mentally, kept her body moving.
As he dragged her from the car, her captor hadn't noticed her bindings had come loose. She'd been patiently working on them during the drive as rusty, pointed springs jabbed into her skin through the ripped vinyl and yellow foam of the backseat. When the time came and she felt an opportunity, she took it; landing a swift, crushing kick to his groin that doubled him over in surprised shock. She untangled the rope from her hands, tore the bag from her head and disappeared into the dark woods.
Her legs began to burn as she picked up the pace, certain he must be right behind her. Just then something hidden in the tall weeds caught her foot and yanked her down hard. Her face smashed against the dirt, which pushed up her nose and into her mouth. The smell of roots and earth conjured images of dying, repelling her bruised face up off the ground like a reflex. She twisted around to see what had tripped her.
Her right foot was caught beneath a raised tree root. She pulled desperately and felt her calf muscle tear, an awful searing pain. She silenced a scream, squeezing the muddy grass till it squished through her fingers. She could hear heavy boots trampling the wet leaves just a few yards behind.
She pulled again hard — stomping with the heel of her other foot. The thick root released, slicing up her ankle as she threaded it free. She clawed back to her feet, pushing off a nearby birch to propel herself forward, off balance. Pure adrenaline now.
She ran with her head down, sprinting madly. She lost her bearings in a thick of tall trees, stopping to grip one as if it were a muscular hero who'd arrived in the nick of time. Disoriented, confused, every direction looked hopeless, no clear path back to civilization.
Sunlight was just breaking through the trees. Not more than a mile away, sleepy commuters fought traffic on their way to work.
Behind her, his grotesque, out of shape panting closed in. She spotted a patch of thorny bushes, crouched down and held her breath. She locked every muscle — just another shrub, no moving parts. The rabbit was invisible. The thumping footsteps slowed down just a few feet away. She could smell the leather of his boots. The noise of his heavy gasping swung back and forth like a Doppler as he turned in place, scanning.
He made a sound, like a snarling dog, irritated, and ran off. She waited until everything was silent before she breathed again. She slowly stood up, craning her neck to make sure the coast was clear, then dashed in the opposite direction.
There was a steady hum reverberating in the distance just beyond the tree line. The road? She bolted towards it, her rubbery legs staggered as she fought to stay upright. She skidded down a steep incline of mud and dirt, twisting her ankle on a protruding rock that nearly toppled her over. She grabbed a low hanging branch and reached around to balance herself against the trunk, her fingers dipping into oozing sap.
The dirt path curved up ahead. She plotted her next move and flexed to run when something stirred in the shadows. She froze, backing up.
A small squirrel darted up a tree and disappeared. She exhaled and took a step forward, realizing with horror that something bigger had spooked the animal from its hiding spot. The lumbering shape emerged, stepping out onto the path in front of her.
Their eyes met — both surprised to see each other. He smiled a lucky smile, wiggling the fingers of his dirty work gloves with glee. She blinked first, backing up a step. He leaped at her, his arms outstretched, grabbing her torso. She opened her mouth to scream, but all that escaped was a whimper as she narrowly dodged his grasp; her slick, sweaty skin slipping through his fingers. She crawled for her life on all fours like a frightened animal. He grabbed her blood soaked ankle with both hands, falling with all his bodyweight onto her leg.
She drew back her knee to her chest and planted a heel first kick to the top of his head, forcing him to release his grip. He reached out again but she was too fast; he came up empty, his nails scraping along the back of her calf. She scampered to her feet and ran, kicking dirt up into his eyes.
The trail ran downhill, giving her some momentum. She heard a loud, grassy thud, followed by an angry groan that sent shivers up her neck and made her face red hot. She looked back to see his head pop up from under the brush. He had fallen hard, it looked like he might have hurt himself, badly.
A chance.
She scaled a small hill hoping to see the busy highway. But the roaring sound she'd heard was not the road — but a river.
Too far and deep to cross, the foamy water rushed fast and loud. She winced in frustration but kept moving, limping on empty to the river's edge.
She crumpled into a heap along the muddy banks, as if her bones suddenly went soft, her fatigued muscles pushed past failure.
She weakly extended her bloody hand into the river, the icy cold water sent a jolt through her system. She shook her head and let out a gurgling, primal moan. She put one hand in front of the other and crawled through the mud, her bruised, bleeding fingers sinking into the wet ground.
As her adrenaline receded, it allowed the pain to flow. Her left arm was especially damaged, probably broken during the fall, and she had to favor her right to keep moving. Within seconds, the pain was too much. Her last ounce of strength evaporated, her elbows bent and she planted face first.
She felt her flesh going numb. She listened to the roar of the water, its hum almost soothing. Just loud enough to drown out the approaching footsteps. She prayed that maybe, if she lay perfectly still, the dog would not see the rabbit, and pass by.
"So, you do like to get dirty."
He jabbed his boot under her ribcage, flipping her onto her back. She spit up, gasping breathlessly. His grimy perspiration dripped into her eyes and mouth as he leaned forward, blocking out the sun above.
He brushed her mud-caked hair from her eyes with his filthy hands. "You were really pretty," he said between gasps of exhaustion.
The past tense of his words lit a fire of defiant rage. She lashed out with every ounce of life left; kicking, clawing and biting. He clamped down on her throat with both hands in a vice-like grip. She felt her head swell, her eyes bulged in their sockets. The dog had the rabbit in its jaws.
She clawed ferociously at his face, her fingernails tearing off at the quick. He straddled her chest, his weight preventing her ribcage from expanding. With her airways completely blocked, she went into a claustrophobic panic, nearly lifting him off the ground with heaving thrusts from her hips. Her legs couldn't get any leverage, slipping in place on the slick wet ground. Her lungs pounded for air as she began to lose consciousness.
She didn't want her last moments to be his horrible face. But as he leaned into his work and squeezed, it was all she could see. It was the first time he'd let her look at him fully, which confirmed he intended it to be the last thing she'd ever see. Instead she defiantly focused on him real hard, staring into his eyes, studying every curve in his face, every detail as her body went cold.
As she went limp, the fight over, he relaxed his grip. She twitched a few times, then fell silently still. During the struggle, her long flowing black hair had tangled around his wrists. He peeled the matted, blood soaked strands from his skin and examined his work. He gazed at her olive flesh, her gentle face.
He took a few deep breaths and cursed himself for letting her get the best of him. Had she made it less than a quarter mile further, she'd have reached the highway. He got lucky.
A twig snapped nearby, standing him up straight. He searched the endless trees for the source of the sound, scanning every direction. He quieted himself, like a hunter in stealth mode, allowing the prey to reveal itself.
He waited a long time, listening, watching, until assured he was indeed alone. Satisfied, he kneeled down beside the body and grabbed a few handfuls of mud from the soft ground. Then some more, and soon he was digging a hole.
But someone was watching him.
CHAPTER 2
Victor Sandoval's eyes began to adjust to the intensity of the fluorescent lights overhead. He'd been a guest of the cold grey-walled interrogation room of the Lansing Police Department several times now, and the intimidation factor was beginning to wear off. He was only 19, but having grown up in El Salvador as one of four kids who often had to beg or fight if he wanted to eat, he'd seen his share of shit that makes you old fast — and as a result looked very mature for his age.
He sat calmly as Detective Jack Ridge paced a hole in the floor in front of him. Jack had pushed aside the table between them, leaving him exposed. As Jack passed in and out of the blinding light, Victor noticed how pale and lifeless the detective's skin was. When Jack spoke, his voice was deep and gravel, almost sickly.
Detective John Harrington sat off in the corner behind Jack, his chair reversed, arms draped over the back. Harrington was athletic, very muscular, with protruding veins on his biceps. Went right from high school football to law enforcement. He sipped his cold coffee and winced, waiting for Jack to say something.
They both waited.
Jack bent over the case file strewn out on a nearby table. In the mix was an 8x10 photograph of Angelina Rosa — Hispanic, 18, beautiful — the words Missing superimposed at the bottom. He jotted something down in his notes and turned back towards Victor.
"Tell me again. Please," Jack asked.
Victor rolled his eyes and looked to Harrington, hoping he'd intervene on his behalf. But Harrington wouldn't dare. Jack had his reasons for dragging Victor down here again, that's all that mattered. Jack had an intimidating way about him that demanded respect. Maybe because he rarely smiled. And no matter how much time you spent with him, you never really felt like you knew the man. Jack was a leftover from an old breed. A tough guy who refused to admit he was deteriorating by the minute. Everyone in the department noticed. No one said a word about it.
Victor shook his head, frustrated, speaking in a redundant tone as if reciting lines from a play: "She call me in the morning, say she gonna see about a job."
"She didn't give a name, description? The kind of work?"
"I can't remember." Victor used extra emphasis to demonstrate that he really couldn't remember, adding hand gestures and opening his eyes wide to make his point.
"Think."
"Angelina, she do odd job, clean houses. That's all."
"How long were you two dating?"
Victor held the top of his head and groaned as if maybe Jack had Alzheimer's or something. "A year."
"And… that's the last time you heard from her?"
"Her father call me that night, ask if I see her."
"He still thinks you had something to do with it," Harrington said.
"I was working, you know where I was!" Victor stood up. A stern look from Jack put his ass right back in the chair.
"One of your deliveries took over an hour and a half," Harrington added.
"I had a flat tire! How many time you gonna ask me?" Victor put his face in his hands and, for a moment, Jack thought he might sob. Not because he was guilty and they were about to break him. Because he loved Angelina, and he realized he was probably never going to see her again.
Jack and Harrington conferred in the corner, quietly.
"We're spinning our wheels," Harrington said.
"I know."
"Right. So how much longer we gonna do this?"
"Till he remembers something."
The thick metal door to the interrogation room opened; officer Jennifer Brown entered. Jennifer's brains, fiercely competitive nature, and sports acumen had made her one of the guys, despite her curves. Harrington, when he found out she understood the two point conversion in football, was especially respectful.
She eyeballed Jack. "Captain wants a word."
Harrington pumped his eyebrows as Jack exited the room.
Victor turned to Harrington. "You guys don't know anything at all, do you?" Harrington got up, spinning his chair around with his muscular hand.
"Stay put." He followed Jack out of the room.
Captain Clarence Lafave — 52, short cropped hair slicked back with gel — stood in the hallway, arms folded across his chest.
"Why are you questioning Sandoval again? I never cleared this."
"He was the last to see her alive. There's still holes, details missing. I'm trying to jar his memory."
"Jack, we have to call it a day."
"What?"
"The investigation will remain active as long as there are leads to follow. There's other shit pil
ing up that needs your attention."
"So we just sit and do nothing? Why, because she doesn't fit within some ethnic priority?"
Lafave looked sternly at Jack and shook his head don't go there. "It's been three months. Until we have evidence a crime's been committed, her photo goes up on the wall with all the others. We just can't allocate resources to every child that goes missing. I'm sorry."
Lafave waited till he was sure Jack got the point, then walked off, conversation over. Harrington had a look of relief on his face, but erased it when Jack looked his way.
Jack entered the holding area adjacent to the interrogation room. Harrington followed, leaning up against the wall, hands on his hips.
"We're gonna have to let him walk," Harrington said. Jack peered in at Victor through a large two-way mirror. Victor was muttering something to himself.
"He's irrelevant," Jack said.
"How do you figure?"
"Gut feeling."
Harrington grinned. "The last time you had a gut feeling I lost a hundred bucks."
CHAPTER 3
Nine year old Rebecca Lowell awoke shrieking at the top of her lungs. She threw the blankets off her sweaty body, her flannel pajamas stuck to her moist skin. Her wavy blonde hair was matted to her wet face and neck, beautiful blue eyes stretched wide and bloodshot.
She grasped at her chest, clutching it as if trying to keep her racing heart from bursting out. She took a blurry look around and realized where she was, back in her bedroom, the nightmare receding — they were getting worse.
Her mother, Laura, threw open the door and raced to Rebecca's bedside, pulling her close, comforting her. Rebecca flailed about, still screaming in panic.
"It's okay, I'm here. Mommy's here.” Laura cradled Rebecca's tiny body in both arms.
"I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Rebecca was coughing and shaking, her skin hot and slick to the touch.
Laura gently rocked her back and forth, embracing her tightly. "You're safe. You're in your own room, in your own bed, safe and sound."
