I futilely tugged on the door handle a few more times. It rattled but didn’t budge. I had two options. Find a big rock and bust out a first-floor window, crawl inside, and inspect the second floor. Or just move on to the L-shaped building. I chose the path of less noise.
Just then, I heard what sounded like the whine of an engine. I put a hand to my ear. Was that an actual noise or my hearing aid screwing with me? I raced in the direction of where I thought the noise had come from. I ran as fast as my numb legs would move, the woods that sloped up the hillside on my left, the L-shaped building to the right. I felt like a four-legged animal on two legs. Maybe a gorilla.
My eyes darted all around me, searching for any movement, human or otherwise. Even glanced in the windows I ran by. Nothing.
Another sound. An engine revving? Again, though, I trusted my hearing like a man might trust his cheating wife. Never.
Finally, I reached the end of the L-shaped building. My eyes went straight to the far edge of the deeper woods. The back end of a silver Jeep was slogging through mounds of snow and mud.
My heart sunk. Was Mackenzie in that car?
The Jeep disappeared around a bend.
28
They were gone. No way I could catch them on foot. I put my hands on my knees and panted. My entire insides burned—my lungs from running so hard and my stomach from feeling like a knife had a ripped a hole in it.
With my pulse still peppering the side of my neck, I pushed to a standing position. The first thing that caught my eye was a barn, or what was left of it. The front doors were, essentially, shrapnel. The roof was all but gone.
I flipped around and stared at the L-shaped building. Could the driver of the Jeep have left Mackenzie here at the compound? Or was this some kind of setup?
“Think, dammit. Think.” My voice sounded like Elmer Fudd. My lips were foreign objects.
Maybe they had been watching me all along. But for how long? Once I stepped on the property? Before then? I tried to think about my drive up from Elkins. I’d passed a few cars. A couple were behind me, but nothing had stood out. I didn’t recall a Jeep. It could have been there, though.
Professionals could be involved. The thought of “professionals” made me think about the yakuza again. It was impossible to understand who was here or even why, at this point. I’d left my phone in my car—nice move, Oz—but unless I called Sheriff Kupchak, and that was not really an option, a phone would get me nowhere.
One option. Search the L-shaped building and then move on to the smaller buildings, as long as there was an unlocked door. If I found nothing, then I’d hike back to the road, try to flag down a truck, or, better yet, just call for a tow. Once back in town, Denise would probably kick my ass.
I trudged over to the first door I came to in the L-shaped building and yanked. It opened. Once inside, I found the temperature maybe only five or ten degrees warmer. But that was still five or ten degrees warmer. I blew into my hands, and after walking no more than twenty feet, I saw two enormous doors, both open, to my left. I quickly moved to the threshold.
“Ho-ly shit.” I was staring at a sanctuary. It looked like a bomb had exploded in it, but I saw pipes from an organ, pews turned on their sides. I leaned over and picked up a red book and thumbed through a few tattered pages. It was a hymnal. At the far end, four steps led to a lectern, also on its side. There was a closed door off to the left. I jogged in that direction—my legs had begun to thaw some. I weaved around the mess, made it to the door, and pushed it open. I found two offices. More furniture, but the filing cabinets were bare naked. Made sense if the Feds had raided the place.
For a split second, my thoughts went back a week to the raid at Novak and Novak. The first domino to my life turning upside down, or so it seemed. And that raid, which had led to Dad’s first heart attack, was nothing like this raid, from what Brook had described.
I marched back through the sanctuary and out the double doors, heading down a hallway lined with rooms. I stopped and searched each one. After about ten rooms, it began to feel redundant. As if I were wasting my time. As if I were being played a fool. But I was here. And I’d seen a Jeep. This wasn’t a suburban mall where cars came and went nonstop. That vehicle had been here for a purpose.
Was that purpose to do nothing more than screw with my mind? If so, it was beginning to work. I took another thirty minutes to finish the search of the floor. Not a sign of any person—no articles of clothing or even candy wrappers.
I ambled up to the second floor and immediately felt a breeze. I looked down the hall. Something moved. I snapped my hand around to my back and grabbed the pistol. I leaned against the wall, dropped lower, and inched forward.
There it was again.
Something fluttered. I squinted. Was that a dress? Maybe some type of curtain? Part of me begged to call out Mackenzie’s name. It was all I could do to keep the sense of dread at bay.
I shuffled forward another twenty feet, then stopped cold. A piece of tattered plastic was fluttering into the hallway. There had to be an open window in the room. Was that it, though?
I kept moving, my gun at my side. I told myself not to pull the trigger at the first sign of human life—it could be Mackenzie.
Almost at the door, I paused, put my hand against the wall. I felt no movement and heard only plastic fluttering. Without wasting another moment, I wheeled around the opening and peered inside. Sheets of plastic hung from an exposed ceiling. Most of the far wall, as best as I could tell, wasn’t there. I could see trees, even some snow.
A few steps in, I felt the intensity of the wind. The plastic hung like shower curtains, ones that were stained and had tears in them. I edged forward, then stopped. I could see something up ahead between the flapping plastic. It was gray and black, maybe three feet off the floor. I did a quick three-sixty to make sure no one was sneaking up on me. All clear.
I gripped the gun with one hand, shoved plastic aside with my opposite forearm. It was coming into focus. It looked like a chair. I shuffled a few more feet, my head still scanning all around me. As I weaved around each sheet of plastic, the gaping hole in the wall became more obvious. Looked like a window had caved in, as well as the support beams just around it. A quick glance above my head. Parts of the ceiling were missing. I saw pipes and exposed wires, some dangling, shaking in the wind. The whole structure seemed unstable, as if it had been built by amateurs. An HGTV remodel wouldn’t do the trick. This place was destined for a demolition. I just hoped the house of cards would say upright while I was still…
Wait. Was that an arm?
I plowed through plastic, moving so fast I got tangled in one sheet. I flailed my arms. The gun went off. I choked on my own spit as dust and debris rained down on me.
“Fucking gun!” I put the safety on and shoved the pistol back into my waistband.
But then I realized something. When the gun had fired, no one cried out; no one moved. Maybe because there was no one?
I spun from the hold of the plastic sheet and smacked the other sheets to the side, making a beeline toward the arm that I thought I’d seen. I got past the last sheet, and I saw a person behind a chair.
“Denise!” I ran over, dropped to her side. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. I shook her. Her head rocked left and right, almost as if it wasn’t attached to her body. I spotted a needle next to my knee. Her shirt sleeve was pushed up above her elbow. Needle holes showed in the crook of her arm. I put my hand on her wrist.
No pulse. I touched her face. Cold, clammy.
She was dead. Fucking dead.
And I was to blame.
29
I touched her face again. “Who the hell did this to you? Why? Why, why, why?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Tears welled, but they were snuffed out by an anger so deep I could feel my whole body quake.
“Fuck!” I slammed my fist to the floor. I did it again and again and again. I did it until the skin on the side of my hand cracked open from the lip of cracked
linoleum. Blood smeared across my hand. I wiped it on my jeans as another round of tears filled my eyes. I stared at Denise, wondering how she had gotten here, and why. I couldn’t think. I grunted out a breath, then another, trying to keep it together.
I got to my feet, shuffled closer to the gaping hole in the wall, and looked across the property toward the thicker area of woods. I could see the path the Jeep had taken, but I saw no sign of the vehicle itself. Dammit, if only I could have read the license plate number. I’d been too slow.
I flipped on my heels and stared at Denise. Had the yakuza lured us to this town and finally killed her? If not them, then who was behind it? Was it even the same group of people who had kidnapped Mackenzie in Hawaii? And with me leaving Denise alone, had that given them the opportunity they needed to grab her?
I pinched the corner of my eyes. Bile seeped into the back of my throat. This wasn’t happening. This had to be a nightmare.
I opened my eyes, took in a few breaths. My eyes went to the chair in front of Denise. A video camera was sitting on it. I walked around Denise, picked up the camera. The viewer on the side was flipped open. I found the metal ON button and pushed it. The tiny screen on the side came to life. I tapped the arrow to play the video.
It was Denise, sitting on the floor here in this room. She was crying, wailing even. A man held her from behind, gripping the back of her neck. Hard. I couldn’t see his face. It was off screen. Probably on purpose.
Lots of yelling and crying. A man telling her something. I found the volume button and cranked it louder. “Just do it. Do it if you want your kid to stay alive,” he said. His accent was similar to the other West Virginia locals I’d spoken to.
She looked up at the camera, tears streaming down her face. Then she picked up a rubber band, tied it around her upper arm.
“Dear God,” I said. “No, Denise. Tell me they didn’t make you—” I stopped short, my eyes wet but glued to the tiny screen.
The man who was holding her from behind handed her a needle. She took it from him and just stared at it, her eyes wide with fear. She had to be thinking about her life ending, and the one she’d never see again. Mackenzie.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. I wondered how long her stare-down would continue. A few seconds later, I got my answer. The man smacked the side of her head. I flinched.
“Denise,” I said, touching the screen, wishing, praying there was a way to go back in time, to stop this from happening.
I heard a chuckle. Maybe by the person holding the camera? Hard to tell, but it made my stomach churn.
With her hair draped across her face, she slowly pushed herself upward. Then, without warning, she swung her arm to the side—the one holding the needle. She was trying to stab the man who held her. His legs hopped back. She missed, lost her balance, and dropped to the side.
The camera began to shake…the person holding it was moving, but never did the video show any faces other than Denise’s. The man behind Denise grabbed her by the hair, pulled her upright. Expletives by more than one voice. I couldn’t understand everything. Then the man pointed at the camera and said, “Do it. You’ve got to do it, Denise, or we kill Mackenzie. Do you hear me?”
I hit pause. I could barely breathe; I was gasping for air. I wasn’t sure I could watch much more. I turned away, looked at Denise on the floor. I had to watch the video until the end. They wanted me to see it. Maybe there would be additional information about Mackenzie at the end.
My mind went straight to the worst-case scenario: what if these hicks who killed Denise didn’t have Mackenzie? They could know about it, somehow, through some connection in Hawaii.
“Fuck!” I yelled, stomping my foot. I pushed the play button.
A moment later, I saw the barrel of a gun. The man pressed it to the side of her head. She got still, although her eyes darted around like that of a bird. More tears, her mouth stuck open, as if she were releasing a silent scream. I’d never seen anyone so terrorized.
It felt like I’d been stabbed in the gut, and someone was just cranking it around and around.
Back to the video.
“Come on, Denise. We don’t have all day. Do it. You know you want it anyway. You’re nothing but a two-bit crack whore. You’ve always wanted to end your life. This is easy. We’re giving you the opportunity to do it for Mackenzie. If you don’t, we’ll be forced to kill her. We don’t want to, but let’s face it. You’re not going to live much longer. You might as well go out on a high.”
Both men chuckled at the sick humor. The camera bounced up and down so much I thought I got a quick glimpse of the man’s face behind Denise. Maybe just a chin.
The video continued as Denise put her hands over her face and sobbed. A few seconds passed. She finally pulled her hands down. Her face was bloated, red, quivering.
“Denise?” the man warned, pressing the gun harder against her head.
She looked into the camera now. “I’m sorry, Mackenzie. Mommy will always love you.”
And then she took the needle and pressed it into her arm.
I wanted to throw the camera down, smash it into a million pieces. But there were still a few more seconds. It didn’t take long. She became wobbly, her eyes got heavy, and then she dropped to an elbow. She licked her lips, as if her mouth had been drained of all liquid. Her body collapsed to the floor. Her eyes appeared to flicker for a moment, and then they ceased movement.
The camera moved again, down to the boots of the man holding it. Words were spoken, but they were indiscernible. And then the video stopped.
A three-ton weight was caving in my chest. With my eyes looking at Denise, I raised the camera above my head. I was broken, but more than that, I was angry. At myself for not bringing her with me, or maybe for not forcing her to stay back in Hawaii. Angry at the heathens who did this to her. Wind whipped across the space, but I was sweating. My eyes were on fire.
A second before I slammed the camera to the ground, I held up. Somehow, a thread of rational thought made it to my frontal lobe. This could be evidence to find the assholes who’d killed Denise. I needed to keep it. I looked at the video camera, a newer model. I rotated it in my hands, unsure where the data was stored. Hidden next to the battery compartment was a tiny button, which I pushed, and out slipped a little memory card. I placed it into my pocket.
Damn, I wished I had my phone. I had no clue where Mackenzie could be. My best hope was getting this video snippet to some type of expert who could break it down, look for clues as to who these men were. Their voices, clothes, the gun, along with who drove a Jeep.
I had to go to the authorities. For help in finding out who’d killed Denise, who held Mackenzie and where. Still, I felt more lost than ever. They’d said not to bring the police in. Damn, this whole riddle bullshit now seemed like a twisted prank. I still couldn’t envision the end-game. Did the people who’d killed Denise have Mackenzie? Was she being held in some cabin nearby? Or was she a world away, having been sold to some Asian child trafficker?
I bent down next to Denise and gently pressed her eyes shut. I closed my eyes and said a few words. I wasn’t sure how to pray, what to say. All I could think of was saying how sorry I was and how I hoped she was in a place of peace.
I thought about hiking back to the main road, to figure out my next steps. But I knew I couldn’t leave her here. I put an arm under her legs and one under her back and hoisted her up. Carrying her through this terrain wouldn’t be easy. In fact, it would push me to the limit. Whatever. She was my daughter’s mother. She’d been forced to overdose on some type of drug. I owed it to her. I had to do this.
As I started walking around the plastic sheets toward the door, I used my knee to push her up a bit, get a better grip. I felt something crinkle against my fingertips. I moved them around and felt a piece of paper. I walked across the hall into another room. No open windows or holes in the wall. There was an old sheet in the corner. I gently laid her on the floor, then turned her on her side.
/> A note was taped to her lower back. I pulled it off and read it:
Do not be diverted by the death of someone who does not matter. Her life would have ended soon enough anyway. She was flawed. So far you have passed the test. For that, we are pleased. If you want to see Mackenzie you will follow the trail: where the Prophet was first swaddled, the birth of a nation first formed, and the Old Sandwich reaches the State.
One additional detail. You have 6 hours to accomplish this goal. If you do not reach the destination within this time, or if you contact authorities, we will be forced to kill her.
Good luck.
Six hours. The death of someone who does not matter. I glanced at Denise and felt a volcanic surge of emotion. Had she been used as nothing more than a pawn?
Six hours. I blinked a couple of times, my mind scrambled with questions, trying to somehow comprehend how all this could be, who these people were, what kind of fucked-up game was being played out.
Six hours. So far you have passed the test. Could it be…that Mackenzie’s kidnapping, the assault, Gwen’s murder, this cross-country search was more about me? Me. Why me?
Six hours. I stared at the note, focusing on the riddle part again: where the Prophet was first swaddled, the birth of a nation first formed, and the Old Sandwich reaches the State.
Prophet. Birth of a nation. Old Sandwich? It made no sense. My brain was either fried or frozen, or just simply in shock. It wasn’t operating at full capacity. Maybe not even at fifty percent.
Six hours. Mackenzie wasn’t close, but she wasn’t terribly far, this note told me. Not in another country, anyway. I had to get out of here, to find transportation, to get some help in figuring out this riddle. No authorities, just like last time. I’d have to keep it under wraps.
I jumped to my feet, grabbed a sheet from the corner, and laid it over Denise. God, I hated leaving her here. But she would want me to go after Mackenzie.
Game ON (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 2) (Redemption Thriller Series 14) Page 12
