by Dan Padavona
Anthony pushed LeVar’s head forward with the gun. The kid’s arm trembled as if the floor shook beneath him. LeVar worried Anthony might fire the gun by accident and spray his brain all over the kitchen. A steel door squealed open and closed down the hallway. They were coming.
As the kid held him at gunpoint, LeVar glanced at the window. If he cocked his head, he could look into the parking lot behind the complex.
“What the hell? Why would Rev bring a Royals member with him?”
The moment Anthony took the bait and looked out the window, LeVar wheeled around and slammed his palm against the kid’s wrist. He deflected the barrel a second before the gun fired. The bullet blew a hole through the window and shattered the glass. As the shards rained onto the kitchen floor, LeVar rammed his forehead against Anthony’s nose. A sound like eggshells cracking. Blood streamed from Anthony’s nose as his eyes rolled back in his head.
LeVar caught the boy before he smashed headfirst against the linoleum. He eased Anthony to the floor. Someone pounded on the door as LeVar swung his head around. Kilo and Lawson must have heard the shot.
As the gang members yelled from the hallway, LeVar climbed out the window. Not good. Too far to jump unless he wanted two broken legs. The door burst open inside the apartment. A second window stood five yards away. The neighbor’s apartment. Muttering a prayer, LeVar leaped for the ledge and grabbed hold of the bricks before he lost footing. He wobbled backward, one arm pinwheeling as the other hung on for dear life. When he got his balance, he placed his foot against the pane, prepared to kick through the glass. That’s when he noticed the window was open a crack, the summer breeze swaying the curtains.
He yanked the screen off and tossed it into the parking lot. Angry voices shouted from inside Anthony’s kitchen. If Kilo stuck his head out the window, he’d spot LeVar. With the screen removed, LeVar crouched upon the ledge and yanked the window open. He crawled inside the apartment before the gang members spotted him.
LeVar glanced around the apartment. He stood inside a kitchen, a mirror image of Anthony’s, though the neighbor kept this kitchen tidy. A vase on the table held roses, and a fan over the stove buzzed. LeVar peeked his head into the living room. Didn’t see the neighbor. The bedroom door stood closed.
He crept across the floor and edged the front door open. A woman in the corridor shouted for someone to call the police. When she turned her back, LeVar spun into the hallway and sprinted for the stairwell.
“Stop that kid!”
A man’s voice. Gruff and irate.
LeVar bounded down the stairs, the dress shoes slowing him down until he kicked them off.
He escaped through the cellar as the first police siren wailed through the city.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Saturday, August 14th
3:10 p.m.
Raven lifted her chin and strode into Wolf Lake Consulting, prepared for an argument. She couldn’t fathom why LeVar had blown off the appointment. Now she needed to defend her brother to Chelsey, and her boss had sounded like a time bomb ticking down to zero on the phone.
Chelsey was at her desk when Raven entered the room.
“That was his only chance, Raven. I need dependable workers, not people like your brother.”
“That’s not like LeVar. There has to be a reason he didn’t show.”
“Whatever the reason, he lost his opportunity. And that’s the last time I take advice from you on who I should hire.”
Rage, emotional fatigue, and a month’s worth of frustration boiled to the surface inside Raven.
“You know something, Chelsey? You’ve turned into a real b—”
She cut the insult short when the door opened. Saturday visitors were unusual. It had to be LeVar. Chelsey glared at Raven, as if daring her to complete the curse. Raven held her hands up in exasperated surrender.
Paul Phipps, the camper who’d hired Raven, rounded the corner.
“Mr. Phipps, you should have called instead of driving into the village.”
Phipps glanced between the two women. Chelsey rocked in her chair, watching Raven, no doubt hoping she’d make a mistake with Phipps. Then Chelsey would have an excuse to fire Raven. Maybe that was for the best. A few weeks ago, Raven had considered Chelsey her best friend. But she wouldn’t work another day beside this version of Chelsey.
“What’s the latest on my case? Have you caught the thief?”
“Please sit,” Raven said, gesturing at an open chair.
“I prefer to stand.”
Raven brushed the hair off her forehead as Chelsey’s glare cut into her back.
“We have a lead, Mr. Phipps. I’m working with the park ranger, and we’ve covered the campgrounds with surveillance cameras. If the thief returns, we’ll catch him.”
Phipps sniffed.
“Sounds to me like you’re nowhere near finding the brigand. What sort of operation do you run here?”
Raven turned her head to Chelsey, who lifted her brow and raised her palms, as if echoing Phipps’s question.
“I assure you, we’re close to catching him. We discovered shoe prints, and the ranger spotted him in the forest. But I must ask, Mr. Phipps. Is this case worth your money? You’ve already paid twice what the thief stole from your wife’s wallet. Even if we find your money—”
“It’s not about breaking even. This is a matter of principle. I want the outlaw brought to justice.”
Raven sighed.
“As you wish, Mr. Phipps. I promise I’ll give you an update by Monday.”
“I’ll expect progress.”
Phipps gave Chelsey a curious look before turning away. The door closed, and an awkward silence settled over the room.
“Well handled, Raven,” Chelsey said, her expression blank as she clapped. “Bravo. Perhaps you should enlist your mystery-solving team to catch the campgrounds outlaw and save the day.”
“I’m doing my best. Lay off. Instead of criticizing me, why don’t you help? We could use an extra set of eyes on the camp.”
Chelsey shook her head and slung her bag over her shoulder.
“I don’t have the time or patience.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Home. I don’t feel well and shouldn’t have come in today.”
Raven couldn’t take it anymore. She rounded on Chelsey and blocked her from exiting the room.
“You’re not going anywhere until we discuss what’s happening with you.”
Chelsey threw up her hands.
“Nothing is happening. I caught the flu. You should back away before you catch it too.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than anyone. You aren’t sleeping, you refuse to leave the house, and you’re falling behind at work. These are classic signs of—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Why? You need help. Hiding from the truth won’t make you better.”
“I’m not listening to this.” Chelsey moved past Raven. Raven shifted her body and placed a hand on Chelsey’s shoulder. “Move.”
“No. You can’t push me away this time.” As Raven held her friend in place, the neckline of Chelsey’s T-shirt dipped and revealed the inflamed lacerations. Raven flinched. “Tell me about your chest.”
Chelsey’s face twisted.
“My chest? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re covered with cuts from your neckline to your chest.” Raven took a breath. “If you’re hurting yourself...”
Her friend’s eyes narrowed before widening with understanding.
“Oh, my God. You think I’m cutting.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“You’re…I can’t believe…Oh, this is priceless.” Chelsey wrestled with the clasp on her necklace. When the hooks refused to unfasten, she grabbed the necklace and yanked it off, snapping the clasp in half. A piece clinked off the floor and skittered under the desk. “The cuts are from the necklace, for God’s sake.” When Raven glanced at Chelsey in question,
Chelsey rolled her eyes and slapped the necklace on the desk. “It’s a family heirloom. My great aunt passed it down to my aunt, and now I own the damn thing. I was stupid and wore it to sleep. The pendant slices into my chest whenever I roll onto my stomach. Jesus, Chelsey. I’m not cutting myself like some frail goth girl who hates her parents.”
Raven bit her lip. Was Chelsey lying, or had she been wrong about the cuts? Guilt slumped Raven’s shoulders.
“Stay and talk. I’m so sorry for jumping to conclusions.”
“I’m leaving. The next time you accuse someone of cutting, do five seconds of due diligence before you make a fool of yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Saturday, August 14th
3:35 p.m.
A noise upstairs jerked Justine out of a nightmare. In her dream, spiders and cockroaches covered her body as she curled on the dark floor of the basement, bugs skittering in and out of her ears, crawling into her nose. She jolted and tried to swipe the imaginary spiders off her body. Justine found her wrists chained as before, her body pitched forward with her shoulders bearing the weight. With a moan, she adjusted her feet and leaned back, careful not to scrape against the wall. She’d learned the hard way that cobwebs and dust covered the concrete, draping off the ceiling. They took up residence in her hair, her nose, her clothes. The filth was a part of Justine now, as much as she was one with the dark.
She squinted at the thin line of light burning around the sound barrier over the window. Judging by the strength of the light, it had to be afternoon. As she tested the manacles and searched for a weak spot, footsteps descended the staircase above her head. She’d heard her abductor moving through the house since he locked her in the basement. But he hadn’t visited since morning, again standing in the shadow so she couldn’t recognize his face. Was this man someone from her past?
She recalled the kidnapping through a malnourished haze. Justine had walked out of the supermarket and into the fog. As she pushed the shopping cart to her car, she’d noticed the man in the wheelchair struggling to load his groceries into the van. A cast covered his leg. All a ruse. He’d fooled her, taken advantage of her soft spot for the disabled. All she’d wanted to do was help, and look where it got her. She’d made it easy for him, falling for his trick when he asked her to fish the crutch out of the van. Then he struck her head. Who was the man? He wasn’t injured or disabled. Even the cast had been a fake. Was she a random victim, or had he targeted her?
The days and nights blended together. Justine had no idea how long he’d locked her in the basement. Days, weeks. Her gaze searched the rear of the basement where the water heater stood. The heater had become her silent partner, the only thing in the darkness that kept her company besides her delusions. She shivered when she remembered the crazed eyes staring at her from behind the water heater. She assumed it was her kidnapper. Yet she swore he’d been somewhere in the house moments before. Whoever the person was, real or imagined, the stranger wasn’t here anymore.
Her eyes fell to the floor. Despite the gloom, her vision adjusted. She discerned shapes and shadows. While she’d slept, he’d removed the tray and taken it upstairs. Except for nibbling on a crusty piece of bread, she hadn’t eaten since he locked her in this inhospitable dungeon. Her stomach lurched with hunger as she swallowed the sickness crawling into her throat.
A cupboard opened and closed. She imagined him fixing a sandwich, cutting through the bread with a sharp knife. Little droplets of mustard spilling off the bread as he lifted the sandwich toward his mouth. It seemed impossible the man could eat a meal or sleep through the night with a prisoner locked in his basement. Carrying on with his life without a care. If she died, he’d find someone to replace her. A new pet.
Defeat slumped her body forward, and the chains snapped her arms behind her again. She cried out. Stars filled her vision.
As she pulled herself erect, he spoke. The ceiling muffled his voice, made it impossible to make out words. Perhaps he was on the phone.
Then a second voice responded. A woman’s voice.
Justine straightened and concentrated on the two voices. Had someone knocked on the door? No, she would have heard. The woman was inside the house. Adrenaline surged through Justine’s body. She wanted to believe…no, needed to believe the woman wasn’t working with the man to keep her trapped. It was possible the woman didn’t know Justine was locked in the basement. Justine opened her mouth to scream, and a raspy groan emanated from her chest. Her parched throat refused to respond.
Tugging on the chains, Justine shuffled forward until the manacles stopped her. She stood directly beneath them. Closing her eyes, she listened. His raised voice silenced the woman, forced her to comply. A whimper followed. He’d upset the woman. Was she another kidnapping victim? Or was this his wife or sister, living in submission, too petrified to question why he locked unsuspecting women in the basement?
Footsteps, lighter than his, trailed up the staircase to the second floor of the house. A door closed. Silence pervaded.
Justine waited for the man to move again. A minute later, footsteps crossed overhead, and the sink ran. Water trickled through the basement pipes.
Then a key twisted in the basement door. Until now, she hadn’t realized the reinforced door opened with a lock and key. Any hope she held for escaping her prison faded away.
The door opened. A rectangle of light pierced the darkness and forced Justine to avert her eyes. The brightness seared her vision as his shoes thumped against the stairs. He was coming for her.
Justine dropped her head to her chest and pitched forward. She bit her tongue when her shoulder joints threatened to tear. Closing her eyes, she pretended to be asleep as he shuffled through the gloom. She could smell him now. The musky scent of his cologne, tinged with a sharp aftershave. Squinting one eye open, she spied his silhouette amid the black, swaying as though blown by an unseen wind.
“You’re awake. You don’t need to pretend.”
He stepped closer and held out his hand. She’d correctly pictured the man making a sandwich. It rested on a plate.
“Eat. If you don’t eat something, you’ll die.”
Justine’s eyelids fluttered. She locked her gaze on the plate, didn’t want to look into his face and spy the monster who’d captured her in the fog. Still, the voice tickled her memory. He’d sounded familiar in the parking lot too, though she had no friends or family in Kane Grove.
He picked the sandwich off the plate and pushed it toward her lips. She turned away, though her mouth watered. Seasoned roast beef, lettuce, a sweet pickle. It amazed her how much her nose discerned from one whiff.
“You must pay for what you did. Even inaction is a crime. But I won’t harm you, if you cooperate and make amends.”
Justine’s eyes shot to his silhouette. He’d echoed the guilt she’d felt since high school.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
“I know you are, and that’s why you’re still alive. But you need food and water, if you’re to survive another day.”
He pressed the bread against her lips. She opened her mouth and bit down on the sandwich, chewing as the flavors hit her tongue. He might have poisoned her. One last trick. But she didn’t think so. For whatever reason, he wanted her alive. She needed to escape and warn Paige. If the man was avenging Dawn’s suicide, Paige would be next on his list.
She swallowed and coughed after eating too fast. The food struck her hollow stomach and sizzled, threatening to make her nauseous. As she steadied herself, he placed a glass against her dry, caked lips. The water hit the back of her throat. She gulped hungrily as he tipped the glass, his arm extended, face always hidden behind a veil of darkness.
Justine choked and spewed water. Her lungs spasmed as she sucked air, chest wracked by another coughing fit. He waited until she finished. Then he offered her the glass again. She blinked the tears out of her eyes and cleared her throat, accepting the water.
The stranger fed her until only the corne
r of the sandwich remained on the plate. She’d consumed all the water in the tall glass. Her chest heaved as though she’d climbed a mountain.
“Who are you?”
He stepped back, as though afraid she’d recognized him.
“Someone who will help you atone for your sins.”
Justine cried out.
“Please don’t hurt me. I should have helped her.”
“Yes, you should have. But here we are, all these years later, and you still need to pay for what you did.”
He turned before she could reply and spoke over his shoulder.
“I will bring you another meal this evening. You did well, Justine. But death is forever. You’re never leaving.”
The door closed, and the key twisted in the lock.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Saturday, August 14th
4:20 p.m.
The escalator carried Chelsey to the second floor of the mall. Two college age females approached with shopping bags, the girls laughing about something that happened at last night’s party. Chelsey moved aside and let them pass. They were too consumed by conversation to pay attention to people around them.
Finding a bench in front of a store selling classic board games, Chelsey slumped onto the seat and sipped her soda, people watching as soft music played through the speakers. Two rails divided the corridor. She glanced over the closest rail, giving her a birdseye view of shoppers hustling down the lower corridor. It was good to relax. After lying to Raven about going home, she’d driven to the mall outside Harmon, craving retail therapy.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She eyed the screen and glimpsed Raven’s message. Chelsey flicked the phone into silent mode and ignored the text, still fuming over the ridiculous accusation. Cutting herself? Even at Chelsey’s darkest moment, when her friends had abandoned Wolf Lake for college and her parents didn’t know how to reach her, she hadn’t disfigured her body. She’d only wanted the nightmare to end, to find a way out of the dark tunnel she’d fallen into. There were nights when she closed her eyes and didn’t care if she never awoke. Yet she’d never considered suicide. Not seriously. Nor had she sliced her body with little razors and hid the lacerations like secret friends.
