by Amy Cross
Chapter Thirty-Four
“She's been down there for a while now,” I whisper, as Malone and I continue to watch the hatch that leads down into the underground bunker. “What do you think she's doing?”
“It's a big place down there,” he reminds me. “There are four separate rooms, and several connecting corridors. Roper certainly spared no expense in trying to make her comfortable.”
“Nice guy,” I mutter.
“He seems to have been constantly working on the place and updating it,” he explains. “You should see the bathroom he built for her. I know this is going to sound weird, but it's almost luxurious!”
There's a faint glow coming from the hatch, so it seems that Esmee has managed to switch the power back on. She definitely hasn't come back out, and there are no other exits.
“We can't sit here forever,” I point out finally, as I take a step forward. “If she comes out, we'll be none the wiser. She'll just come up with a bunch of new stories. We have to see what she's up to, before she realizes that we're here.”
“Just remember what we're dealing with,” Malone whispers as we make our way toward the hatch. “She's a vulnerable young woman who's been to Hell and back. She's probably terrified, and we can't expect her to make rational decisions. If she starts to seem agitated, let me take charge, okay?”
“Wow,” I reply, “it almost sounds like someone went on a course to learn about sensitivity.”
As we get to the hatch, I crouch down and listen for a moment. I don't hear any sign of activity, which perhaps means that Esmee isn't in the room directly beneath the entrance. Then again, we can't be too careful, and I'm just starting to try to think of our best strategy when – without warning – Malone leans past me and starts to very slowly, very tentatively lift the hatch.
I'm about to tell him that he's being too loud, but then I see that the entrance section of the bunker is completely empty. The single electric light is buzzing on the wall, and several power cables are snaking in through the hatch's entrance, but Esmee must be somewhere deeper inside.
“Okay,” I whisper, “now we -”
“Do you hear that?” Malone asks suddenly.
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but then I realize I can hear something coming from deeper in the bunker. To my surprise, there's what sounds like classical music playing in one of the other rooms.
“Is that...”
My voice trails off.
“Dvorak's ninth symphony,” Malone whispers.
I turn to him.
“I think so, anyway,” he adds.
“You're into classical music?”
“Is there any reason I shouldn't be?” he asks. “Not everyone like thrashing guitars and heavy drums and... beeps and boops and electronic noises.” He pauses for a moment. “Can we talk about my musical tastes later, maybe? Like I told you earlier, Roper spared no expense in providing things for Esmee to do down here.”
Realizing that he's right, but still surprised by this discovery, I look back down into the entrance area for a moment and then I swing my legs over the side. There's a metal ladder leading below, so I take care to climb down without making too much noise until finally I step aside and wait for Malone to follow. As I look around, I'm struck by the fact that – despite being a secret underground bunker where kidnapped girls were held – this place is actually pretty cozy, with nice furniture and even some decent pictures on the walls. Some of them are signed, and I think I can just about make out Esmee's name. To be fair to her, she isn't a bad painter.
Classical music continues to ring out in one of the other rooms.
“This is nicer than my apartment,” I whisper to Malone as he joins me. “For real.”
“Roper went to a lot of trouble for Esmee,” he replies.
“I'm starting to understand why she wants to come back here,” I say, and then we start making our way toward the corridor that leads further into the bunker. “There's no need to work. There are no annoying people who might start bothering you. Apart from the fact that you're a prisoner, I can see the appeal.” I turn to him. “Does that make me a weird person?”
“Slightly.”
“You were thinking it too.”
“I never said that,” he replies. “But, sure, I guess this isn't the most hellish prison in the world.”
We stop talking as we edge along the corridor. As we approach the door at the far end, I realize I can hear someone moving around, and then I spot a shadow against one of the walls. I glance at Malone and see the concerned expression on his face, and then I make my way to the door and peer around, only to see that Esmee is down on her knees, scrubbing the legs of a dresser.
And this room...
Apart from the lack of windows, this place looks pretty luxurious. Roper's farmhouse might have been a bare shell, but he sure made an effort for Esmee. There's a large double bed, and two of the walls are made up entirely of bookshelves, filled in every possible spot with titles that in some cases have been piled on their sides. There's a radio, and a cabinet at the far end of the room contains what looks like a pretty fancy dinner set. There are a few creepy, old-fashioned dolls, and to top it all off there's even a chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room.
Esmee, meanwhile, is still wiping the dresser's legs, and she's apparently oblivious to the fact that we're here. She looks so focused, so busy, and it takes a moment before I realize why she seems familiar. She actually reminds me a little of my mother, who always used to do housework at the weekend. There's just something so homely about the way Esmee is working.
Suddenly she turns, staring straight at us with a blank face.
I open my mouth to say something, but I'm not sure where to begin.
“It's okay, Esmee,” Malone says, holding his hands up as he steps past me, entering the room. “We're just here to help.”
She looks around for a moment, and then she turns first to me and then to Malone.
“Esmee,” he continues, as he edges closer to her, “this whole place has to be kept pristine, for the people who are going to come tomorrow. Do you understand? There's a lot of forensic evidence that needs to be gathered. I'm sorry, but you really can't be here. And this is the second time you've run off today. Your parents are beside themselves with worry.”
He waits for a moment, and then he turns to me. It's clear that he's not sure what to do next.
“It's nice here,” I say, forcing a smile as I step forward. “I can see why you like it, Esmee. It feels safe.”
As I speak, I can't help noticing that she really seems to have been cleaning the place properly. It's almost as if she's been trying to wipe away any trace of what's happened. Maybe that's it, maybe she's just troubled, but as I look back at her I can't help feeling that she seems very calm, and very determined.
Something's not right here.
Suddenly Esmee gets to her feet.
“One day,” Malone continues, “you're not going to want to be here. You'll realize that there's a whole world out there, waiting for you. And this place will seem like a bad dream. Trust me, Esmee, you just need to come with us right now.”
He waits.
She stares at him.
Finally, Malone turns to me.
“You agree, Maggie, don't you?” he adds, clearly desperate for help. “Why don't we take Esmee out for ice cream? Everyone loves ice cream.”
“I'm not sure ice cream's the solution to all the world's problems,” I reply cautiously, as I notice Esmee stepping up behind him. “In fact, I think maybe -”
Suddenly Malone cries out and stumbles forward, and as he falls I see Esmee standing behind him with a crowbar in her hands. Before I have time to react, she hurries over to him and hits him again, this time slamming the back of his head and sending him thudding against the wall.
“No!” I scream, rushing forward.
She hits the back of his head again, and I'm horrified to see blood spraying against the wall. And then, b
efore I have a chance to stop her, she turns and swings the crowbar at me, smashing me in the face and screaming as she knocks me out cold.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The first thing I hear, as my eyes begin to flicker open, is a faint but persistent shuffling sound. And then, as I finally manage to focus, I see Malone being dragged straight past me.
I let out a faint groan as I try to sit up, but now flickers of pain are rippling through my head and my vision briefly becomes blurry again. I feel really weak, as if I might pass out again at any moment, but somehow I manage to prop myself up on my elbows, and then I turn and see that Esmee is dragging Malone to the far corner of the room.
Classical music is still playing.
“What?” I whisper, just as Esmee lets go of his arms and lets them fall to the ground.
She turns to me, staring at me with a calm, blank expression.
I swallow hard.
My vision blurs again, and I have to really focus before I can see properly.
Esmee starts walking back over toward me.
“Wait,” I mutter, pulling back and slamming my back against the wall, hitting my head in the process. I feel groggy and weird, but I know this is all very wrong. “What did you do? What did you do to Malone?”
She stops just a few feet away, and I turn to see that she's towering over me.
I wait, but she doesn't say anything. It's as if she's content to simply stare at me, as if she finds me – at most – mildly interesting.
And then, before I can say another word, she reaches down and grabs my legs, and then she starts dragging me over to join Malone.
“Stop,” I murmur, struggling to stay conscious as the back of my head bumps against the ground. “Esmee, what is this? What's wrong with you?”
She dumps me in the corner, with my legs propped against Malone's chest. I start frantically turning around, and then I grab Malone's arm and start tugging wildly.
“Wake up!” I hiss, desperately trying to rouse him. “We have to get out of here!”
When he doesn't respond, I drag myself painfully around to his head, only to see that one side of his face is covered in blood. There's a thick, bloodied wound on his temple, and several more cuts have been sliced into his neck and shoulders.
“Malone, wake up!” I shout, shaking him as hard as I can.
I reach for his neck and press two fingers against his bloodied skin, but I can't find a pulse. I try on the other side, and I feel a burst of panic as I realize that there's nothing.
“Malone!” I scream. “Get up!”
Suddenly hearing a shuffling sound, I turn just in time to see that Esmee's heading out of the room. I open my mouth to call after her, to ask her why she's doing this, but then in an instant I realize that there's only one possible explanation. For all of this. It's as if, in a moment of sheer terror, all the lies and obfuscations fall away. I see it all. How could I have been so stupid before? This whole thing finally makes sense.
“Thomas Roper didn't kidnap you,” I say cautiously, as my voice trembles with fear. “Did he?”
She stops in the doorway, with her back to me.
For a moment, I think back to Roper's face on the night he died. He was standing at the top of the waterfall, and he stared at me. No matter what I've discovered since, I still can't quite bring myself to believe that I saw the face of a killer that night. Which really only leaves one other possible explanation.
“Eleven years ago,” I continue, still staring at Esmee, “when you disappeared, Thomas Roper didn't kidnap you.” I pause for a moment, as the full horror of the situation finally sinks in. “You kidnapped him.”
She pauses, and then she half turns to look at me.
I wince as I pull myself up. At least I've got her attention now, which means I might be able to buy myself some time.
“You were fifteen years old,” I remind her. “People were starting to ask you what you wanted to do in life, weren't they? What kind of career your wanted. But you didn't want a career at all, did you? You just wanted to be left alone, to read your books and listen to your music. Nothing else interested you. You just needed a way to make all of that happen. And you found a way, didn't you? You found Thomas Roper.”
She continues to stare at me, but now there's a trace of emotion on her face. A trace of anger.
“Roper must have seemed perfect,” I continue, still struggling to put it all together. “A loner, stuck out here beyond the edge of town. And he had money. Enough to get by. And he was... not dumb, exactly, but naive. Solitary. He didn't understand how the world worked, not entirely. Did you try to seduce him first, Esmee? I bet you did. And I bet he rejected you, for obvious reasons. So your first idea didn't work. You couldn't lure him that way, so you had to try something else.”
I wait, but she doesn't react.
“So you kidnapped him,” I add finally, as all the pieces start to slot into place. “How did it go, exactly? Did you tie him up? Did you lock him in one of the rooms? And then you worked on him. You made him your prisoner, not just physically but emotionally. You crippled his mind. You made him want to serve you, and you made him build you this little bunker, so you could live your life exactly how you wanted. He brought you books. He fed you.” I look up for a moment at the thick black cables that are running along the ceiling. “He built this place,” I continue. “He ran power out here. And water. He gave you everything, because you mentally and emotionally beat him into submission. Sure, he was walking around free after a while, but he was still your prisoner. In here.”
I tap the side of my head.
Suddenly she steps toward me.
“It was daring and audacious,” I tell her, “and pretty dumb, and by some kind of miracle it actually worked. He was your prisoner, even when you let him out.”
She stops and stares down at me, and now she looks utterly disgusted. It's almost as if she's offended by the fact that I've figured it all out.
“Everything was fine,” she says finally, “until he brought that other girl here. He was worried that I might be lonely.” Suddenly she grins, as if it's the most ludicrous idea she's ever heard. “Can you imagine that?” she continues. “What an idiot. He didn't understand me at all. I always told him what I wanted, I was very clear that I didn't want him to think for himself. And then finally he did think for himself, and he did something so completely stupid, I honestly think that he must have taken leave of his senses.”
“He was a good man,” I reply, as I try to work out how I'm going to get out of here. “You manipulated him. How long did it take, before you were confident to let him out alone? Six months? A year?”
“About two months,” she says calmly. “You're right, it wouldn't have worked on a lot of men. But Tommy was different. He had a kind of sweetness about him. A kind of innocence.”
“So you tricked him.”
“I knew what I wanted, and I took it,” she replies. “The thought of going out into the world, of studying, or working... It's repulsive, it makes my skin crawl. I shouldn't have to be near people.”
For a moment, I can only stare up at her in abject horror.
“Why did he bring that bitch here?” she continues. “She recognized me. That's the worst part. That stupid Kimmy girl actually recognized me. At that moment, I knew there was nothing else we could do. Of course, Thomas didn't have the balls, so I had to do it. I took her out into the forest and I killed her. She actually fought back pretty well, she managed to cut my arm. In order to kill her, I had to really transform and go crazy. Then Thomas disposed of her body, but I never truly forgave him for making me go through all of that. Nothing was the same, over that last year.”
“It was a cry for help,” I whisper. “He left the body parts out there so they'd be found. It was his way of trying to get someone to notice what was happening.”
“He could have just told people,” she suggests.
“No, he couldn't,” I reply. “You were too deep in his head for that.”
I look around, desperately trying to find a weapon. A metal pipe, maybe, or at least a brick. And then, in a moment of miraculous luck, I see Malone's gun still resting in a holster at his waist.
No.
I cannot be this lucky.
“He was so weak,” Esmee says after a few seconds. “How could I respect him? The more I twisted him around my little finger, the more I realized how much I despised him. Thomas Roper seemed like the strong and silent type at first, like the kind of man who looks after a woman. But once I really dug in deep, I found that he was so pathetically easy to manipulate. I mean, I was fifteen years old when it started, and he just crumpled. Can you believe that? He just fell apart for me.”
“Maybe you were just very good at it,” I reply, as I try to time my move for the gun.
I need her to look away.
“At first,” she continues, “he said it was too hard to run power out here. He said he couldn't do it. But I suppose I gave him the confidence to try. His next project was going to be tidying the place up a little, making it look a little nicer. That was the summer project I'd given him, and we'd even worked out a schedule. It was going to be quite risky, because I would have had to move into the main house for a few days, but...”
Her voice trails off, and then she shrugs.
“Well, it's over now,” she mutters. “I just needed to clean up some of the evidence here, to make sure no-one realized the truth. Now I'll have to burn the place, but it's okay. I can probably get a book deal, or even a film deal. I'll make money for that, won't I? I don't need much. Just enough to buy somewhere to live, and to always be able to read my books and listen to my music.”
She stares at me for a moment, before starting to turn away.
“Wait right here,” she adds. “I'll fetch the gasoline and -”
Suddenly I grab the gun and aim it at her. I place my finger on the trigger, but I resist the urge to fire.
“Don't move, bitch!” I snap, as I press my back against the wall and start to slither to my feet. “Don't even blink!”
