The Girl in the Darkness

by John Triptych

  “Jesus, the look on that woman’s face,” Mike said, referring to Irene Owen. “She just couldn’t believe she bought the door that sealed her own daughter in.”

  Addison shook her head as she looked out of the vehicle’s side window. “Yeah, it’s just unbelievable. But at least she told us everything so we can nail this guy.”

  “So Caleb is our prime suspect now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Addison said. “Irene Owen said that Zoe had already gone away when she moved in with Caleb and Floyd, so there’s no connection between them so far.”

  Mike kept his eyes on the road. The narrow two lane street was surrounded by tall oak trees on both sides, completely obscuring the landscape beyond. “What about the time when she said that Caleb did some construction work for her house at Quantico Station? Maybe Caleb might have noticed her daughter while he was over there?”

  Addison nodded. “Yeah, there could be a connection there, but it’s slight.”

  “Okay, so we got to find a link that can tie them together.”

  “Right, we have to prove that Caleb knew Zoe,” she said. “Maybe he was the one who convinced the girl to finally run away for good?”

  “Sounds like a good theory, Addy. But how do we find evidence for that?”

  “Teenage girls sometimes write love letters or something, right?”

  “Okay, but Irene said she threw all of Zoe’s stuff out when she moved away from Quantico though,” Mike said.

  “Maybe there’s evidence in Caleb’s house?”

  Mike glanced at her briefly. “But we don’t have a search warrant yet.”

  “We’re just going to have to wing it for now then,” Addison said.

  He shook his head in frustration. Mike had an argument with his wife the night before because he was neglecting his children, and he ended up sleeping at the station. He was bitter at the long hours he was putting in and wanted to get this whole thing over and done with. “If we tip him off, he could destroy any evidence.”

  “We’ll just have to be careful then,” Addison said. “There’s not enough stuff that ties any of them with Zoe’s death, so we couldn’t get the warrant.”

  “So how do we play it?”

  “See if he’s dumb enough to let us in the house. Once we’re inside have a look around while I do the talking. If you spot anything suspicious, we could go to the judge this afternoon and get the warrant,” Addison said.

  Mike nodded. “Okay, sounds good. I would love it if he tried something so I could just arrest him right then and there.”

  “Even if you did that, we still have to find something that ties him to Zoe though.”

  “I know, I know,” Mike said wearily.

  Addison glanced at him. “You okay?”

  Mike continued to stare out of the windshield. “Yeah I’m good. Other than getting thrown out of my own house, yeah, I’m good.”

  “I know how you feel. Stephanie won’t even talk to me anymore.”

  Mike had been uneasy about having her as a partner when he found out that she was a lesbian. It'd taken a few years, but he'd eventually came around and accepted her. They both liked to talk about the women they encountered, so in the end he felt that Addison was just like the previous partners he worked with. “Yeah, but the overtime is good though, right?”

  Addison giggled while shaking her head. “I guess I’ll go take Stephanie on an all-lesbian cruise when this is finally over.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Mike said. “My kids have been bugging me about Disneyworld down in Florida. I’ll go take my leave after this and hump my wife till she gets knocked up again and make them all happy.”

  Addison tilted her head back and laughed hard. The jokes they made helped to alleviate the stress and frustration.

  Mike spotted an unmarked dirt road coming up ahead to their left. “Is that it?”

  Addison checked the GPS on the dashboard. “I think that’s it, go ahead and make the turn.”

  The car moved along the gravel road for half a mile until it forked in two places. There was a black, free-standing mailbox along one side. Mike slowed the vehicle down until the GPS tracker told them to take a left. The road narrowed to one lane as they passed in between tall overgrowths until the car got to a clearing in the middle of the woods. A dilapidated mobile home stood alongside a sandy front lawn shaped like a cul-de-sac. A battered wooden fence formed a semi-circle around the property, and an old Ford pickup truck was parked in front of the house. The windows were boarded up, while the front door was closed.

  Mike parked the car just in front of the back of the pickup truck. “You think he’s home?”

  “We’re about to find out,” Addison said as she got out of the car.

  Mike closed the driver’s side door behind him as he made his way towards the elevated foundation of the mobile home. Addison stood a few feet away to the side as she glanced over at the pickup truck. She could see that it was unlocked, but there weren’t any keys in the starter.

  Her partner stood directly behind the front door and started knocking. After they got no answer, Mike knocked again and there was still no reply. He turned to look at Addison. “I don’t think anybody’s home.”

  Addison grunted as she made her way around the truck. Perhaps there was another entryway at the back. Without a search warrant, there wasn’t much they could do, but if they could somehow gain entry into the place through an unlocked door or window, then they might be able to have a good look without anyone else knowing about it.

  Just as Mike turned and was about to go down from the steps, he heard a shuffling noise coming from within the mobile home. He twisted his head back to face the door. “Police! Anybody in there?”

  The blast from the shotgun came right through the door and hit him at his left side. The 12-gauge, 00 buck had nine solid lead pellets, each with the force of a .38 caliber bullet, and four of them tore into his ribcage. Mike grunted and fell sideways into the dirt.

  Addison was by the truck and was walking towards the side of the house when she saw what had happened. She instinctively dove backwards, behind the truck’s right front wheel as another shotgun blast tore another huge hole through the front door.

  She crouched down and drew her SIG-Sauer pistol. “Mike! Are you okay? Mike!”

  Her partner lay on his side, just a few feet below the stone steps. He moved his fingers slightly as blood began to seep out from his body. Mike’s face remained expressionless, as if in shock.

  Addison fumbled for her smartphone with her free hand while keeping an eye at the house. After a few precious seconds went by, she was finally able to activate it and held it by her ear while the autodial engaged. “Dispatch, officer down! I repeat, officer down! I need backup and an ambulance, Sturgeon Point Road! Hurry!”

  A hoarse shout came from the mobile home. “You ragheads will never get me!”

  Addison’s lips started trembling as she put the phone away and stared at her partner. “Mike, hang on! Help’s on the way. Just hang on!”

  Another shotgun blast came through, this time ripping through one of the front windows of the house. Addison figured that the assailant must have moved from just behind the front door to the middle part of the dwelling. There was about fifteen feet of open ground between her and Mike, and there was a very good chance that she would get shot as well if she ran over to him. The far side of the house was about five feet from where she was, and she could try and make her way to the rear. Backup was less than ten miles away, but she sensed that Mike needed help quickly. With the quiet part of the house just beyond, Addison made her decision as she sprinted over to the side of the mobile home.

  The moment she crouched down by the flanking wall of the dwelling, a third shotgun blast tore a hole through the boarded window just above her. Shards of glass and a few wood splinters rained down on her. Addison kept her concentration as she sneaked over to the rear portion of the house. From her vantage point she could see that there was a partia
lly opened screen door just ahead of her. Addison crept forward, staying low and leading with her gun.

  The voice coming from the interior continued to rant. “Goddamn you all! You think I didn’t know you were coming? Of course I knew. The man told me so!”

  Addison crouched just below the lower part of the screen door. The hinges indicated a more robust wooden part of the entryway had apparently been broken off, and she could see into the dim interior of the house. The inner part of the mobile home was a trash strewn mess, and there was somebody moving inside. At the edge of her vision she could see the spindly arms of a man cradling a shotgun, his back turned towards her. All he wore was a dirty tank top and boxer shorts. His hair was disheveled and there were sores on his face and arms. He looked like hell compared to the old photograph they had of him, but she could tell that it was indeed Caleb Vize.

  He was partially covered due to the angle that he was facing, and taking the shot would have risked a powerful counter attack if she missed him. Come on, you bastard, she thought. Just show me a little more.

  It was clear that the man was somewhat agitated as he cradled a pump-action Mossberg 500 in his arms. Caleb continued to fidget as he faced the other way, trying to look through the slits in between the boarded up windows. “I served my country, and this is how you repay me? You sons of bitches, come on! I’ll show you what I can do!”

  Addison was wedged at the proper angle by the side of the door, so she had sufficient cover using the lower concrete foundation of the mobile home. She could also stand up and get a better line of sight, but if she missed then a few inches of wood and drywall wasn’t going to stop the heavy artillery the man carried. A part of her felt that it was the safest way to just wait him out until backup arrived, but Mike might already be dead by then.

  The shrill wail of sirens was soon heard out in the distance. Once the sounds got ever closer, Caleb became even more upset as he started taking long strides, moving back and forth in between the sealed windows. As the sounds of police and emergency vehicles became more pronounced, Caleb shifted a bit more to his left, and now his back was fully exposed to her.

  Addison held the gun with both hands, her iron sights squarely aimed at the upper part of his back. “Caleb, drop the weapon now!”

  He turned to face her, still holding the shotgun. Addison fired a half-dozen shots almost simultaneously, the .40 caliber slugs passing through the screen wiring of the door, and two of them hitting Caleb right in his upper chest. The man leaned over backwards, smashing into a countertop as the Mossberg slipped off his fingers, and both Caleb and his shotgun fell over into the grimy narrow flooring of the corridor.

  Addison got up and pushed the screen door aside, going quickly through the interior of the house to make sure there wasn’t anyone else around. Caleb’s breaths were rapid and short as she kicked the shotgun away from him before crouching down, going through his clothes for additional weapons. His eyes were glassy and he lay still after a few seconds. She walked over him and opened the front door.

  Holstering her gun, she ran over and knelt down beside Mike. His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly. Addison cradled his head in her arms. “Mike, just hang on!”

  Mike opened his eyes for a brief second before closing them again. He let out a low rattle before going limp, just as the police cruisers and an ambulance drove into the property.

  Addison’s shoulders began to tremble. This was the first time she ever lost a partner. All she could remember were the jokes he made at her expense, and the grudging admiration he finally gave to her when he admitted he was wrong. Sirens and shouting were all around her as tears flowed down her cheeks.

  Seventeen

  The digitized images moving around on the flat screen TV partially illuminated the darkness. He had decided to allow her to watch some entertainment, in order to alleviate her growing melancholy over the loss of Zoe. It had been years since Samantha had watched TV, and the images were mesmerizing enough to allow her to pass the time. When he first activated it after it was installed in her chamber, Samantha was instantly blinded by the light it emitted, but she was eventually able to adjust the brightness at its lowest possible setting. Although the TV couldn’t replace the friend she once had, it was able to distract her enough to the point where she wasn’t thinking of killing herself anymore.

  She would spend all hours just lying in her mattress, a blanket curled up beneath her head, as the shows and countless commercials would stream past her eyes. Just before he installed it on the wall, he had told her that the speakers had been disabled, and all she could do was to look at the visuals. He also refused to provide the remote control, so if she wanted to change the channel, she had to walk up to the monitor screen and fumble around with the touch controls until it got to the show she liked. By trial and error she was able to activate the close-captioned option on the digital menu, allowing her to sometimes read what was being spoken on the screen. In time she eventually got used to it, and her eyes slowly adjusted to the light.

  While she was watching an early evening sitcom, she heard the trapdoor being unlocked. Samantha immediately went limp, pretended to be asleep on her mattress. Seeing her dozing like that tended to discourage him from having sex when he noticed that she wasn’t responding. Of course, it would sometimes backfire on her when he would slap her awake, but she figured the gamble was worth it. Perhaps he was just bringing down more food and supplies instead of being in a horny mood. She kept her eyes closed as she heard him making his way down the rungs. Judging from the noise, it seemed like he was carrying something.

  The sound of something bulky being set down on the cold floor alarmed her. Since her head was turned in the opposite direction, she couldn’t tell what he was up to. He was evidently fumbling with some sort of package as she heard a container being opened. Samantha trembled slightly as the fear of the unknown gripped her senses.

  A shrill meow instantly made Samantha open her eyes and sit up. She turned slowly to see what had just occurred and noticed him handling a small kitten in his arms. The little scrawny animal purred and wriggled as he set it down on the smooth concrete flooring.

  He pointed to her. “I know how much Zoe meant to you, so I got you a little friend.”

  For the first time in many months, Samantha smiled. She knelt down and extended her hands. The kitten slowly made its way towards her, its paws lightly touching the cold floor. When the small cat got close, Samantha scooped it up and cradled it in her arms.

  He placed a plastic tray down beside the box. “This will be the litter box. Make sure that you clean up any mess it makes.”

  Samantha nodded as she continued to play with the blue-grey furred kitten. “What’s its name?”

  “You decide,” he said, before taking the now empty box with him as he started up the ladder again.

  The cat must have been in heat since it kept pacing around back and forth, never staying in one spot for long. She would watch it dart around, its restless mood matching her own feelings of being locked up in an underground room. The string collar that she had tied around its neck had been there for a few years already, and Quincy had gotten used to it.

  A shrill grating noise startled them both. She looked up and soon realized that the ventilator fan was on the blink again. She had told him about it a number of times already, and he said he would fix it soon enough, but months had come and gone and he still hadn't. The ventilator helped to bring in fresh air to her subterranean prison, and she had a feeling that there was a tunnel inside of it that led to the outside. There was a time that she would just stare at the shaft, dreaming about finding a way to climb into it and crawl her way to freedom. But as she thought more and more about it, what was clear that there was no chance for her to fit in that little vent.

  After watching a movie about a prison escape on TV, an idea floated through her mind. Maybe she couldn’t get away, but Quincy could. Using the schedule of shows on the television as a base of time, she could now f
igure out a pattern as to when he would usually come down to look in on her. During a weekday, it was rare for him to be at the level above the cell, which meant that he only came over on weekends or working holidays. So if he wasn’t around, he wouldn’t be able to hear or monitor what she was up to.

  It was a Tuesday afternoon when she decided to act. All she had was a small scrub brush for the clogged toilet, and she hoped that it was enough. The grating noise of the ventilator meant that it had slowed down again, so it was now or never. She didn’t have any pens or paper, but the earring she had placed on its string collar would hopefully tip someone off.

  Samantha knelt down and started whistling. “Come on, Quincy. Come to me.”

  The cat had grown used to her commands, since she had figured out how to train it after watching a show about pets on TV. Over time, she would call out to it. Whenever Quincy would come over to her, she would reward it with a bit of food. By now it was second nature.

  Sure enough, the tabby made its way over to her. Samantha scooped it up in her arms and placed its body over her shoulder. She stood up while grabbing the scrub brush. “You’re going to take a little trip outta here,” she whispered in its purring ears.

  The cat wanted to jump off as she started climbing the ladder, so Samantha quickly placed a reassuring hand on it. When the animal calmed down, she started going up again.

  “Take it easy, Quincy,” she said softly as she slowly made her way up the ladder.

  The ventilator shaft was located behind the ladder, at the opposite side of the trapdoor. There was a rusty iron grill covering it, but Samantha spent all day yesterday unscrewing the nails that held it in place. Her fingers were raw and bleeding from having to twist the sharpened metal, but she had succeeded, and the grill fell down twenty feet until it hit the hard floor below with a loud, metallic bang, narrowly missing Quincy, who fled away in panic. She had been so scared that he might have heard it and would come down to punish her, but after a few hours had passed, it was clear that he might not even be in the room above.