Mashing into a wooden barricade for the second time in as many seconds, Reed felt pain blossom in his shoulder as he dropped to a knee, his eyes wide, gaze darting around the room.
No more than a second later, Billie was inside, her wet nose on his cheek, her soft fur brushing his lips, wiping away his sweat.
Right after her, Ludgate spilled into the room, her Glock out and drawn.
“You good?” she asked, barely looking to Reed as she turned her focus toward the side, scouring the room before them.
A room that, as far as he could tell, held a single item and nothing more.
A small oxygen machine sitting in the corner, the face plate of it lit up, a hose extended out from it, disappearing into the very ground they now stood on.
Chapter Sixty-Six
“Search!”
There was no hesitation from Billie, no need to make a circle through the narrow space. Thrusting her head down at the ground, she began pawing at the dirt they were standing on, tossing it back behind her.
Digging with such aplomb, the loose soil flew back against the far wall, the sound of it like rain hitting a window. One scoop after another, she dug down, a small trench forming.
What Reed had expected when he entered the space, he couldn’t rightly say. So focused on getting through the door, on finally putting eyes on Della Snow, he hadn’t much thought what the setup Mabry had put together would look like.
Only that it wouldn’t resemble this.
The door had been positioned so it was just off the corner, meaning the ground underfoot as he breached had been firm.
Kneeling along the wall on the opposite side of it, it looked to be the only place in the room where such a thing could be said.
Nearly the entire rest of the floor in the building looked like it had been recently tilled. Humped slightly in the middle, the soil was loose, like something had been buried, the ground just thrown back on top without any effort to tamp it down.
Her front paws both working like pistons, Billie was able to tear away a large swath of it in no time, the pile behind her growing steadily larger.
On the ground, his body pressed tight against the wall, his shoulder aching, it took a moment for the full effect of the scene to resonate with Reed. For him to compute the situation onto what he was staring at, synapses slowly begin to align and start firing anew.
Grabbing up a piece of the door that had splintered away under his entry, Reed leaned forward, driving the wide end of it into the dirt. Using it as a makeshift yard rake, he scraped away a cubic foot of dirt, spasms extending through his shoulder as he tossed the soil back onto the pile Billie had already started.
The fresh soil. The oxygen machine in the corner. Billie going straight at the dirt.
Della Snow was down there.
She had to be.
“Get your men,” Reed said, sweat dripping from his nose as he drove the tip of the board down again. “Have someone go into the barns, find us some shovels. Split the rest between the outbuildings and the house.
“Tear everything apart until we find that son of a bitch.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
The phone had died mid-sentence. One moment, Della Snow could hear her mother speaking to her. The soft soothing tones were drifting in over the line, filling the tiny space she was in, telling her that everything was going to be alright. That she was on her way, that it wasn’t her fault.
The next, Della could hear nothing, the voice disappearing, the tiny light that the phone provided fading away.
Plunging her into complete darkness.
It had taken a moment for Della to realize what had happened. Her first instinct was that they had merely gotten disconnected, that whatever far-flung location she was currently imprisoned in had lost reception.
Time and again she had tried to force her mangled hands to revive the device, to bring it back to life, restoring the sound of her mother’s sweet voice to her ears.
The sole form of salvation she had. The only thing she could make right with what little time she had left.
In the preceding hours, so many thoughts, so much emotion, had poured through and out of Della. Images of things she would never get to experience. Tasks she had left undone. Things that had never been said.
So many she had quickly lost count, the sorts of things that a person always assumes they will get to eventually. One by one she had been forced to say farewell, allowing them to drift away, hoping only that any wrongs she left outstanding would be forgiven, just as she did those against her.
Having only time to fix one thing, to make one thing right before her clock ran out, there was no question what it would be.
How her mother was there, how she had managed to find her way back in this time of need, Della didn’t pretend to understand. All she knew was that she was thankful for it, determined not to let the opportunity slip by unused.
Minutes of trying to bring the phone back to life went without reward, earning her only renewed agony from the shattered stumps of her fingers. Fresh tears formed in her eyes, moisture she didn’t know her body could still possibly possess, as she let it slide from her grasp.
Landing on her chest, it had slipped to the side. Passing along her ribs, it had thumped against the wooden box she laid in, the sound carrying a certain finality she couldn’t help but notice.
A sound that she knew would be the last she ever experienced.
Allowing her eyes to drift shut, she lay in the darkness, willing her breathing to slow down. Trying to avoid the pain shooting through her extremities. To ward off the cold she felt seeping into her body.
Her mother had warned her this would happen, that they weren’t safe as long as that man was alive. Moving back was a decision she had made. The consequences of that were now on her.
She just wanted it to be over. To see her mother again, be able to speak to her in person, impart all the things she’d been trying to over the phone for the last few hours.
For them to be together, warm and vibrant, carefree and happy. Just like they used to be.
Just like she had hoped to find again by moving back to Columbus.
“I’m coming, Mama.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The small confines of the shed meant that no more than two people could be working at a time. On one end was a young man named Rob Stanson that looked to be even younger than Gilchrist, his hair the same short dark mane. Dressed in jeans and a ribbed tank top, he had stripped off the fleece he was wearing, his exposed arms and shoulders both sweating.
Across from him was Reed, his hooded sweatshirt gone, the t-shirt he wore under it soaked through and clinging to his skin. The stabbing pain in his shoulder had receded to a steady thump, every drive of the point of his shovel into the dirt bringing a renewed pang.
Ignoring it entirely, Reed kept his focus aimed downward. Salt burned in his eyes and tasted bitter on his lips as he worked, lifting each load up and over Billie continuing to tear at the ground beside him, her two front paws having not slowed down since arrival.
Now more than a foot below the surface, it would have been easier for them all to climb down inside the hole. To cleave dirt away from either side and throw it clear.
But they couldn’t risk standing on the box they knew was beneath it, their weight potentially being too much, sending everything toppling down on top of Della.
When Stanson had first arrived with the shovels, he had brought along a floodlight that was being stored in the barn. Operating on battery power, it had taken a couple of the men a few minutes to get it working, the sudden illumination bringing out details around them that Reed hadn’t noticed before.
The mildew on the interior walls. The rotting boards supporting the roof above.
The clear outline of the hole they were now digging at.
In the rear corner of the room, the oxygen machine continued to hum, the sole sound save the scraping of shovel blades each time one of the men dove back for more. Ext
ended from it, a clear plastic tube with ridged edges disappeared into the corner of the fresh hole, Stanson careful to leave it a wide berth as they worked.
What it could mean, why it was there, Reed didn’t want to venture a guess. Forcing any further thoughts from mind, having envisioned every possible ending enough times throughout the night already, Reed kept his focus on the task at hand.
Drive the shovel. Lift out a new load. Dump it behind him.
Drive. Lift. Dump.
“The house is clear,” Ludgate said, appearing in the doorway, her body casting a shadow across the impromptu excavation. “No sign of Mabry.”
A grunt was Reed’s first answer as he deposited another shovel full behind him. Driving the point down again, he paused, his breathing elevated.
“Anything at all we can use?”
“Men are going through it now,” Ludgate said. “Your guys too. If there’s anything in there, they’ll find it.”
Nodding, Reed went back to his work.
“Also,” Ludgate said, “West Jeff EMT is standing by. They made it as far as the edge of the turnout around back. Can hoof it in from there once we’re ready.”
Again, Reed nodded. Looking up, he started to respond, cut short before the words ever made it to his lips by the sound of Stanson’s shovel connecting with something solid.
Jerking his attention over, he saw the young man looking up at him, his mouth sagging open, realization setting in for both.
Without saying another word, Reed extended the shovel before him, placing a side edge just inches from Stanson’s blade. Using it as a rake much the same as he’d done with the board earlier, he scraped it back, peeling away inches of soil.
Sliding his body around the outside of the hole, he pressed his back flush against the outer wall, using the new angle to pull back swaths of dirt.
“Can we get some light in here?” Reed called, he and Stanson both using the edge of their spades to peel away dirt, a patch of wood becoming visible. Bare blonde, it showed bright through the dark soil, a circle no larger than a basketball appearing and steadily growing larger.
A low whine slid from Billie, sensing the shift of the men around her. Toenails began to scratch at the corner of the box, she too finding what they were looking for, clearing it away.
“Here you go,” Ludgate said, holding the floodlight overhead and casting it straight down into the hole.
Much brighter than Reed had anticipated, he narrowed his eyes to nothing more than slits. Scraping away a few last bits, he retreated back to his spot on the end, mud and dirt caking into his shoes, piled up along every edge, making it difficult to move.
Going as fast as the narrow confines would allow, he pulled up beside Billie and turned the shovel blade in his hand, aiming for the outer edge of the box. Just barely visible beneath the loose collection of soil lining the sides, he twisted at the waist, driving the shovel straight down.
The thin pine board was no match for the galvanized steel, the blade chewing through it. Using the insertion point for leverage, Reed twisted it to the side, the whining crack of nails being pulled away sounding out.
“You, there,” Reed said, extending a finger to the opposite corner.
Picking up on the directive, Stanson did the same across from him, the snapping sound of wood audible over the drone of the machine in the corner.
Both inserting the blades of the shovels through the new creases in the wood, they leaned against the handles. Bringing it to tension, they paused a moment, their gazes meeting.
“On three,” Reed said. “One...two...three!”
In unison, the two leaned down hard. For an instant, there was no response from the wooden top, nailed down tight, refusing to give.
Starting with the high-pitched whine of nails being dragged backward, it began to give, a small gap no more than a couple of inches appearing.
“Easy!” Reed said, both men letting up for just a moment. Repositioning the shovels, they paused again, an unspoken message passing between them.
This time, they went until the top was gone.
Unable to wait any longer, to endure another moment of what he’d been through already, Reed didn’t bother saying a word. Pushing forward with all he could muster, he raised his body into the air, using all his weight to come down on the handle of the shovel.
Nails continued to whine as the top bowed upward, the sound of wood splintering sifting in, spiking the adrenaline Reed felt. Holding his breath, he hefted himself into the air again, driving his weight down on the handle, the lid of the box continuing to slowly rise. Bits of dirt slid across the top of it, the angle getting too sharp for them to sit at rest.
One by one, the nails lining the side of the lid gave way. The top snapped open a couple more inches, jutting at a forty-degree angle.
Needing nothing more, Reed reached out, wrapping his hand around the exposed edge. Gripping it between a pair of twisted nails, he jerked backward, his shoulder again registering pain as he tugged the top back.
A moment later, the tension grew lighter. Flicking his gaze up, he saw Stanson doing the same across from him, deltoid muscles standing out as he strained backward.
Locked in unison, both pulled with everything they had as it slowly eased back. A moment later, it gave way completely, the wood snapping clean, sending them both tumbling.
The light in the room was extinguished for just a moment as the lid flipped open, smacking into Ludgate. Tossing her back through the open doorway, everything was cloaked in darkness as Reed’s back smashed against the wall. Sliding to his bottom, he felt the cool earth passing through his jeans and the palms of his hands as he landed, drawing in deep breaths.
This time, Billie ignored him, her focus on the box before them and whatever lay inside.
“You good?” Reed breathed, jerking his attention over to Stanson.
“Good,” the young man said, sitting in a pile at the base of the wall, the coil from the oxygen tube wrapped around his calf.
“Captain?” Reed asked, raising his voice slightly.
An instant later, the light returned, bathing the room in a bright glow.
“I’m here,” Ludgate replied, her voice sounding more annoyed than anything. “What have we got?”
Shifting his gaze back to the box, to his partner already beginning to scramble down into the hole, Reed crawled forward. Two quick bounds were all it took for him to clear the dirt and the top of the box, bringing the interior into view.
For six solid hours, Reed had been chasing the driver’s license photo of Della Snow. That single square inch was all he had to go on, the only image in his mind as he plunged forward.
It was a far cry from the broken young woman lying prone in the box, but even at that, there was no mistaking the person before him. Naked, bloodied, she looked like she’d been through every bit of the hell he had been imagining all night.
“Della,” Reed whispered. “We’ve got Della.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
There was no point in watching the video feed on the laptop screen any longer. Not when The Scorekeeper had access to such an elaborate electronic spread. Certainly not considering that in just a short while, he would be needing to set things up for the final act of the night anyway.
Running an HDMI cable from the port on the side of the laptop to the feed on the back of the flat screen hanging on the wall across from the couch, it had taken The Scorekeeper a few minutes to get everything in proper working order, but it had all been worth it.
For what lay ahead, and certainly for the moment he was now experiencing.
When Reed Mattox and his K-9 partner had first entered the woodshed, The Scorekeeper had been seated on the couch. Reclined with his arms stretched wide across the back of it, his legs were extended, crossed at the ankles and resting on the coffee table.
It had been a long night, the effects of the last several hours – or months even, if he really wanted to get down to it – beginning to take their to
ll. His eyes sagged slightly and he was feeling the pangs of hunger, staring at the screen, waiting to see if they would ever make it.
If his trust in Mattox had been well founded.
Almost two hours had passed since his previous video feed had kicked to life, law enforcement storming into Ray Cicotte’s old home sitting empty, finding the makeshift shrine he had put together for them.
All night, he had been monitoring the situation, using hands-on visuals and his hidden feeds to keep a live update going of where things were. For most of that time, it had been exhilarating, seeing his well-laid plans come to fruition, every plot point he’d so carefully laid out snatched up by Mattox and his team.
Vindicating all the effort he’d put into it.
Giving him hope that his absolution, that which he craved so much, would soon be at hand.
Sitting on the couch, though, staring at the darkened interior of the woodshed, the digital console of the oxygen tank as the sole source of light, his confidence had begun to waver. For the first time all night – since stepping out of Franklin County Correction months before – he started to think that maybe what he needed wouldn’t come to pass.
That the masses wouldn’t be told of the injustice done to him. That he would be nothing more than another ex-con, complaining to anybody that would listen about a system that had wronged him.
And worse yet, that those had done it to him would go on thinking they had gotten away with it, that they had bested him in some small way.
The mere thought of such a thing, of being forced to finish his existence under such a cloud, brought a sick feeling to The Scorekeeper’s stomach. It had him bent over at the waist, his breathing becoming labored as he imagined such a future.
What he had done in the last couple of days was wrong. He knew that. Dragging Della Snow into something she had no bearing on wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could hope for.
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