Sally Nichols had confirmed his own belief that her mom and dad went to bed early most nights, around ten or so. She’d phoned them off and on throughout the day, and again tonight, and got no answer. Same thing when Betty called.
Al stood listening, for what he knew not, but only the crickets’ song was audible and the whispering of wind in the trees, and beyond that the faint babbling of the brook the place was named for. The air was soft and warm, clean and fresh from the rain, giving off a piney scent.
Betty told him Sally was adamant that her mom and dad wouldn’t have gone any distance without letting her know. That made sense to Al. Sally always had been the apple of their eye. But today was a pleasant day and the couple might have gone for a drive. Could be they ran into trouble and couldn’t call. As far as he knew, they only had the land phone. He knocked again, already knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. He jogged back down the stairs and backed up to assess the house.
The lights were on in both the living room and kitchen, which struck him as a little odd if they’d planned to be gone for any length of time. He could see them leaving a night light on; that would have made sense.
Al backed up a couple more steps, away from the blackflies buzzing around the kitchen window, drawn by the light. Then he got the flashlight out of his car and walked around back. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he had begun to get an uneasy feeling in his gut. He shined the flashlight over the fallow ground behind the house, where once crops grew. Al could recall when the land was alive with cows, pigs, horses and chickens. He was just a boy then. Now they kept only a few chickens. He absently wondered if they’d been fed today.
An old horse cart sat idly out in the field. Must be hard on Hartley seeing things go to ruin. He had always been a man who didn’t mind bending his back, who had a good work ethic, just like Al’s own dad who went to meet his maker a good ten years ago. Hartley Nichols worked dawn to dark, his wife beside him. It was how they were. They’d had only the one child and doted on her. But he remembered Sally as being a nice kid, joyful in her skin, polite and sweet, not spoiled like some today.
He envisioned the place as it had been, and then he let it go. It was a long time ago. Hartley was getting on. Enough time rolls by, the body betrays you. Betrays us all eventually.
Emily, Al’s own wife of many years, died of lung cancer that metastasized to the brain four years ago. A bad way to go. Barring anything so cruel, and despite old age, it seem to Al that Hartley and Ethel had some good years coming to them yet.
He’d give it till morning. Likely they’d show up from wherever they’d gone and they would all have a good chuckle over tea. Maybe Ethel would cut him a piece of her excellent apple pie to go with his tea. He’d even do with one of her famous cookies. Getting back in the car, Al started it up but just sat there for a few minutes, the uneasiness inside him growing. Getting back out of the car, he wandered to the spot where the truck was always parked, facing a line of cedars. He shone the light on the ground and saw the wide tire tracks. He also saw boot prints in the mud. More than one set. Two of average size, one large - maybe a twelve. Or larger. Some would no doubt belong to Hartley, who would be no more than a ten. He was careful to walk on the edge of the grass, so as not to mess up the prints with his own more than he already had. Didn’t mean anything ominous, of course. Ethel and Hartley had old friends who dropped by from time to time. But he knew he wasn’t buying any of it.
He followed the tire tracks out onto the road and was surprised when they didn’t make a left or right, but ran straight across the road and into the woods, scattering dirt on the pavement. He followed the tracks down to an overgrown path that had once been an old logging road.
This he couldn’t explain away. Why the hell would Hartley drive the truck into the woods? And Ethel had to be with him, didn’t she. Al was a cop in his blood and bone, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something bad had gone down here. He could be jumping to conclusions, getting ahead of himself. But he didn’t think so. They’d do a proper search in the morning when there was more light.
Sally had called saying she was on her way. He didn’t especially want to be here when she arrived. But he would be. He’d make it his business.
~*~
Her pursuers behind her, Abby Miller burst from the woods and shot across the clearing toward her car, already tasting freedom. Gasping, her body slick with perspiration, she flung the car door open, relief flooding her body. She’d made it. She had her car keys in her hand; she was safe. Hurry. Get in; lock the doors. But just as she was about to slide into the driver’s seat, she caught a movement in the back seat, sending her heart into her throat. With the opening of the door, the dome light came on and lit up the monster’s face — eyeball bloodied and huge, like something from a horror movie. His hand shot out and made a grab for her, but she managed to dodge it. The back door opened and Abby instinctively slammed it closed on him, catching his foot in the door, and coming into hard contact with his face. His bellow followed her as she flew back in the direction she’d come and straight into the clutches of another kind of monster.
“Whoa there, little lady. You’re not being very neighborly.”
It was indeed the man she had given coffee the night before, and a towel to dry himself with.
He glanced past her, and she saw him grimace, and felt his body tense. “Geez,” he said, “what more did you do to poor old Tattoo? You’ve really made him mad.” But she knew he was as afraid of the man as she was. She felt it from him.
The beast lurched ever closer, hand cupping his bad eye, making him appear even more menacing, a vision out of the worst kind of nightmare. A wounded Frankenstein, but much less sympathetic.
“Bitch,” he was screaming in that womanish voice so in contrast with his physical being it made her blood run cold. “You bitch. I’ll fucking kill you.”
Before he could get his hands on Abby, the man who gripped her arm, stopped him with an upturned palm. “I get it, Tat, and I don’t blame you. I’d want to kill her too. But we’ve got to play it smart. We need cash, and that’s where she comes in. We’ll each take our fair cut and go our separate ways. After that, you can do with her what you like. Nothing quick, though. You want her to suffer, right?”
The answer fell between some sort of growl and lip-licking, his eye never leaving Abby.
“When you’re finished with her you can bury her in the woods for all I care.”
The beast hesitated. Considered. “How do you know the bitch got any money, Roach?”
The man called Roach (appropriate, she thought) was gripping her arm tighter, drawing her closer to him, away from the beast. She was fine with that if it came down to choice. “Hey, I can always smell a woman with a little money in her account, Tat,” he said. “That’s my claim to fame.”
This was said with a lightness that Abby knew was meant to mollify the beast. His feeble attempt at humor. She hoped he was succeeding. Though she didn’t particularly care for the fact that she was the carrot he was dangling before his friend.
“Let’s get her inside first, Tat.”
There was a whooshing of leaves behind her, then an out-of-breath voice saying, “Ya got her, Ken?” This voice was hesitant, anxious. Like he was afraid to displease one, or both of them.
“What’s it look like, Dog?” the man who held her arm snapped.
“Sorry, Ken.”
Ken Roach. Kenneth Roach. She remembered the name from the radio report. Abby made note of it, just in case she needed to recall the name at some point. At the moment, chances of her repeating it to anyone didn’t look promising.
Up close, the glaring, rabid hatred she saw in that one good eye was terrifying. They’d named the wrong one ‘Dog’. Just when Abby thought she’d been blessed with a reprieve, he back-handed her so hard her arm ripped from her captor’s grip and she was on her back on the ground, stunned, stars in the night sky exploding like fireworks above her. The entire side of he
r face felt like someone had slammed it with a baseball bat. She wondered if her jaw was broken. Gingerly, she tried to open and close her mouth. Still functional, but the pain was excruciating, like a hot poker being drilled into her jaw and twisted.
“Okay, okay,” Ken Roach said, waving the beast back, a mad bull he was trying to corral. “Take it easy. You’ll get your chance, like I said. But not here. Not now. Come on, let’s take her inside before someone shows up here.”
“They’re freakin’ dead if they do.” He was still glaring at Abby. “That’s just a sample, whore. Don’t think you’re done payin’ for what you did to me. Not even close.”
His fury came at her like black waves of evil and Abby didn’t doubt him for a minute. If she didn’t get away from here, she was going to die. It was as simple as that. And it would not be that gentle good night of sleeping pills, either.
When they were inside the cabin, the Roach ordered the one called Dog to tie her up, even though she pleaded with him not to, promising she wouldn’t try to run. Her pleas were ignored.
“I don’t think there’s anything to tie her up with in here, Ken. There’s an old shed outside. I could look,” Dog said.
“Fine. Just be quick about it.”
Five minutes later, he returned with a handful of rope that must have been out there since before they bought the place. Once yellow, it was almost brown with filth.
“And make sure it’s tight,” Ken Roach said. Wordlessly, not looking at her, the one called Dog obeyed, binding her hand and foot to a chair with the damp, rough rope. It had a mouldy, sour smell. He avoided eye contact with her while he was tying her up, but she could tell he was trying not to hurt her.
Ken Roach addressed the two of them. “We need this safe haven. At least until we figure out our next move. I have no plan to go back in the cage, and I don’t think you do either, Tattoo. It’ll be awhile before the cops find the bodies and make the connection, but we’ll need to be far away from here when that happens.”
He picked her book up off the table and looked at the cover. He turned it over, and smiled. “Look at this, Tat. Her picture. She’s an author. New York Times bestseller at that. Authors make a lot of money.”
He spoke as if she were not in the room with them. If Abby had had any doubt that these men were the three escapees from Pennington — and she didn’t — it would be gone now. These animals had murdered people and hidden their bodies. That they didn’t mind her hearing about it, meant only one thing. Once they got what they wanted, she was dead. He would give her to the one called Tattoo to do with as he chose.
But she already knew that, didn’t she. It was the promise he’d made him.
Chapter 13
“Come on, honey, it’s nearly eleven o’clock,” Pete coaxed Karen, who was sitting at the kitchen table in a funk, her coffee untouched and gone cold. “The party started two hours ago.”
They’d been invited of course. Usually, they were among the first to arrive at a neighborhood party, and Jan and Bob Price were the best hosts ever and their parties went on till the wee hours, but she wasn’t in a party mood. She didn’t think Pete really was either. He was just trying to be helpful or maybe he just wanted to be in happier company. Last night she’d hardly slept at all thinking of Abby alone and afraid somewhere. She couldn’t rid herself of that dream of the three shadows slithering across the floor toward Abby as she slept; the vision still played in her mind. She hadn’t told Pete about it. He’d just put it down to her fears, her subconscious being creative and tossing up scenarios put together from her own fears. Pete was an analytical soul.
Could he be right and Abby really did go to that remote cabin she and Corey had bought, God knew where? She should have told me where it was, she thought for the hundredth time. Karen had been hurt that Abby wouldn’t tell her; they shared everything. Well, to be more accurate, Karen did. Abby could be closed-mouthed when it came to her own personal life. But how personal was a dumb cabin in the woods? Could she really have gone there? Possibly to harm herself and didn’t want Karen finding her body?
She didn’t want to be in a world without Abby.
“We’re going to be okay, Karen,” Abby always said when Karen was little. “We’ve got each other.”
After their mother died, Abby told her she was in Heaven smiling down on them and Karen believed her. She wouldn’t lie. Abby was her best friend. Oh, Abby.
“I’m not very good company right now, Pete,” putting a hand to her mouth to keep from breaking into sobs again. “You go ahead if you want.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not going anywhere without you. Honey, it’s just two houses away. C’mon, grab a sweater. We’ll at least make an appearance. It’ll take your mind off your big sister for awhile, who by the way, is probably in bed asleep after a hard day of working on her novel.”
“Oh, Pete, do you really think so?” She so wanted to believe that.
“I do.” Pete snatched her sweater off the chair, draped it over her shoulders and gave them a probing but gentle massage. “You need a few laughs. We both do. It’ll be fun.”
As if to underscore the statement, he opened the door bringing into the room the strains of country rock music and laughter and the smell of steaks being barbequed a couple of houses away. “Great night,” he said, turning to smile at her. “Starry skies.”
She was wearing jeans and a peasant blouse, both designer, new. She knew she looked good in them. She heaved a sigh of resignation. “Okay, okay. But let me get a decent sweater first and run a brush through my hair.”
Pete was right about it generally being fun at these neighborhood get-togethers, but it didn’t hold true for Karen that night. She could barely hold a coherent conversation with anyone she was so distracted by thoughts of Abby. Pete was wrong. No way was she working on any novel. She thought about the sleeping pills Dr. Gregory had given Abby. Were they still in her medicine cabinet? Or did she take them with her? And what were the three shadows creeping across the floor about? What did they mean? Or did they mean nothing? Just a dream.
“Where did you go, Karen?”
“What?” Jan Price’s expression was a mix of amusement and annoyance.”
“I’m sorry, Jan. What did...?”
“I was telling you about...” Someone interrupted them, and Jan was off to chat with a more present guest. Probably relieved for the excuse to get away. Karen didn’t blame her. She was hardly her usual bubbly self. They stayed an hour. Pete had three drinks to her one and consumed a steak. Karen wasn’t hungry. When they got home he went straight to bed and was snoring within minutes.
Karen watched him for a while, thinking how much she loved him, and what a great guy he was. But he didn’t really understand how she felt. How could he? She closed the door gently, and padded downstairs.
Armed with Abby’s spare key, Karen left the house and drove her silver Toyota Prius to her sister’s apartment across town, determined to find out where the hell this cabin was. Or if not that, then some clue that she’d gone somewhere else. If she got lucky, she’d drive or fly there first thing in the morning, wherever it was, as soon as Pete left for work. If Pete was right and Abby really was okay, as he kept insisting, then Karen’s intruding on the muses would be Abby’s own fault for being so secretive.
~*~
Pete woke in the night with a pounding headache, surprised to find his wife no longer in the bed. He put on a robe and went downstairs. When he saw that the car keys were missing from the dish on the microwave, he knew at once where she had gone.
In the bathroom, he swallowed a couple of aspirin, washing them down with water. Angry with himself for drinking too much, too fast, he considered dialing Abby’s number. Then he changed his mind. He knew where Karen was, what she was looking for — some evidence that would tell her where Abby was. Instead of phoning the apartment which seemed pointless, Pete made a pot of coffee, poured himself a cup and waited for Karen’s key in the lock.
An hour later
he heard it. The instant he saw her face he knew she’d had no luck.
He was battling mixed feelings, frustration that his wife had put herself in danger by going out in the middle of the night, and tenderness toward her. She had a great capacity for caring, and he was grateful to be in her orbit. The love she had for Abby was of course different from what she felt for him and he was fine with that. More than fine.
“Coffee?”
She hung her jacket over the back of the chair and sagged into the chair with a sigh. “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks, Pete. Sorry if I worried you. I drove over to Abby’s.”
Pete filled her mug with coffee and set it before her. “I know.” He sat down across from her.
“I have to know she’s all right.”
He nodded. “I know a guy at city hall. Maybe he can find out something.”
“You’re thinking a deed to the place?” She managed a grin of hope.
“Yeah. There has to be one, doesn’t there? It wouldn’t be like Corey to just hand over cash without getting the title, or some kind of record of transaction. Once we know where the cabin is, at least we can rule it out. Or not.”
“But you believe she did go there, don’t you?”
“I think it’s a possibility. But still, a hunch.”
“Your hunches are good, Pete. And you’re right. Even if there’s no deed, like you said, there would be some kind of notarized document.”
“I’d expect it would be in the house somewhere.”
“Me to. But I looked everywhere I could think of and couldn’t find anything. Abby told me they paid around fifty thousand for it. At the time I thought they were nuts. The place has no electricity or running water Abby laughed when she told me it had an outhouse.”
The Deepest Dark Page 6
