OtherWorld

by Sarah Dreher

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Millicent said with a heavy sigh.

  David drew his larger, more business-like and professional gun from a shoulder holster, cleverly concealed beneath his sweat shirt. “I told you,” he said through clenched teeth, “I wanted to hear this.”

  Marylou had never been so glad to see an instrument of violence in her life. “That’s a very impressive piece,” she said. “I hope you have a permit for it.”

  He jerked the barrel of the gun a few millimeters toward her. “Are you going to finish this up, or not?”

  Oops. “Well, apparently,” Marylou went on quickly, “Dr. Tunes has been brooding over her arrest, holding a grudge even though it was she who was in the wrong from the start. Very neurotic.” She thought for a moment. “Of course, Stoner did present herself in an untrue light, so she may have a teeny right to resent it, but certainly not to this extent.”

  Now David was pointing the gun at her. “Are you going to take all night?”

  “No, no, of course not. Well, apparently she—Tunes, that is—has been hell-bent on revenge ever since. So she arranged to have you kidnap me—or, rather, Gwen Owens—knowing this would make Stoner terribly anxious and unhappy. But she didn’t do an adequate job describing Gwen, so you got me instead.”

  “You said grab the lover,” David said to Tunes, puzzled.

  “And you didn’t, did you?” Millicent Tunes sneered.

  “They were acting like lovers,” he said. “All cozy and kissy at the Luau, and then they had a fight in the Communicore…”

  “Sometimes people who aren’t lovers have arguments,” Tunes said. Her voice was heavy on the sarcasm.

  “Not like this,” David said.

  “That’s true,” Marylou put in. “This was the kind of argument lovers have. Or very old friends.”

  He scowled at her. “Then who are you?”

  “My name is Marylou,” she said. “Marylou Kesselbaum. But, other than that, everything I told you was the truth. And I didn’t exactly lie about my name, did I? I just let you go on thinking what you were thinking, that’s all. Hardly the same as lying.”

  “Now do you know what you wanted to know?” Millicent asked.

  “What were you going to have me do with the other one?”

  “Wait until that McTavish woman arrived, and kill them both, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Marylou.

  “Wait a minute,” David said. “When I said I’d do this snatch, you didn’t say anything to me about killing.”

  Millicent Tunes shook her head wearily. “If it’s too much for the little man, I’ll do it myself.”

  Marylou couldn’t be certain, but she had the feeling calling David a Little Man wasn’t a real good idea. Maybe it was the tight white line that was forming around his mouth...

  “But you had to get the wrong one,” Tunes went on. The woman was relentless. “You’ll have to take care of all three.”

  David seemed to grow more uncertain.

  Marylou decided to take advantage of the opening. “Honestly,” she said. “First you hire the man under false pretenses. Next you give him inadequate information with the result that he can’t do his job properly through no fault of his own—and David’s a man who takes pride in his work. Now you want him to make up for your mistakes.”

  Millicent reached for her gun and leveled it at Marylou. Her aim seemed to be very steady, and very accurate. “I’m not going to tell you again,” she said. Her voice was glacial. “Keep your mouth shut.”

  If I talk, she’ll kill me. If I don’t talk, she’ll kill me. Is this a choice? If I keep quiet and she doesn’t kill me right away, help might arrive. On the other hand, help hasn’t arrived so far, and there’s very little reason to believe it will do so in the next ten minutes. If I do talk, I might be able to convince David to help me. After all, David and I do have an understanding of sorts. Besides, talking feels a lot better than not talking. “If I may say one more thing...” she began.

  Millicent Tunes cocked the pistol. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  * * *

  “Watch it!” Gwen whispered.

  Stoner nearly laughed out loud with relief. “Gwen?”

  “You were expecting maybe Eleanor Roosevelt?”

  “I was expecting Millicent Tunes.”

  “She’s gone to earth,” Gwen said. She patted the ground.

  “When?”

  “Ten minutes ago. Maybe less. Certainly not more.”

  Stoner rocked back on her heels. “You found the entrance?”

  “I’m sitting on it.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? We’ve been looking everywhere...”

  “I was afraid we’d attract attention. Besides, once you lose this trap door, you can spend the rest of your life looking for it. You should have seen Old Tunes crawling around on the ground.”

  Stoner grinned. “I wish I had.”

  Aunt Hermione was coming toward them, padding across the grass.

  “How did she know we’re over here?” Gwen asked. “Are we talking that loud?”

  “She intuits it. Kind of like a dog.” She felt excited, almost high. They were about to find Marylou. Granted, there could still be some danger involved. Probably would be. Probably genuinely risky stuff. At least they weren’t working in the dark any more—figuratively, that is. Literally, it was extremely dark. Darker than dark. But they knew what they were up against, knew who they were up against, and knew they were up against it. And that was something she could deal with. Something real, something concrete. Not unknown voices and cryptic messages and nonexistent stairwells and bottomless holes... “George and Stape have gone for the police,” she said.

  “Good,” Gwen said. “I was beginning to feel distinctly unarmed and vulnerable.”

  “I guess we should wait for them.”

  “Probably,” Gwen said.

  Aunt Hermione tapped her on the shoulder. “Stoner,” she said in a low tone, “something tells me we’d better get down there, and fast.”

  * * *

  “Wait a minute,” David said. He took hold of Millicent Tunes’ wrist. “We need to talk about this.”

  She brushed him off and turned her attention back to Marylou. “Get up.”

  “She’s gonna have my baby,” he said.

  “Your what?”

  “Baby. Child. We made arrangements…”

  Millicent shook her head. “Fool.” She gestured at Marylou with the gun. “I said, get up.”

  Marylou looked at her calmly—she hoped. “You’re planning to kill me, aren’t you?”

  “I certainly am.”

  “Whether I get up or not. I mean, if I don’t do as you say, you’ll kill me right here and now. On the other hand, if I do do as you say, and get up, and we go somewhere, you’ll kill me there, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “So why should I bother? It’s all the same, isn’t it?”

  “Gonna have my baby,” David muttered.

  Millicent cocked her pistol again. “I’ll count to five…”

  “I’ve never understood that,” Marylou rattled on. “You see it all the time, in movies and TV shows… not Real Life, certainly, my experience of Real Life doesn’t include daily exposure to violence and murder, only TV and movies. A person is about to kill a person, and they start giving orders to the killee, and the killee just blindly and obediently carries them out. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “As much sense as you do,” said Millicent Tunes.

  Marylou frowned. “Too bad. I was hoping you could explain it—having a much closer connection to crime and violence than I, that is.”

  “Get up,” Millicent said again.

  David was looking at something up in the corner of the room, near the ceiling. “Dr. Tunes...”

  She wished she could look. It appeared to be something unnerving. But she had to keep her eyes on the pistol. The pistol was definitely where the action was.

 
“Dr. Tunes...

  Tunes shot him an angry glance. “Will...you...please...stay...out... of...this?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

  I should have done what she said, Marylou thought. If I were standing now, I could make a lunge for the pistol.

  “But there’s...”

  Millicent Tunes’ arm flew up like a spring, catching David in the side of the face with the barrel of her gun. “I told you to shut up.”

  “Well, really,” Marylou said.

  David exploded. “Bitch!”

  “ALL YOU DAMN TRASHY YANKEES GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” The voice was loud and thickly Southern and very, very angry.

  Stoner heard it, sidling along the tunnel wall. A familiar voice. One she’d heard… She glanced back at Aunt Hermione.

  Her aunt nodded and mouthed “Callie Rose.”

  David pulled his gun and fired into the corner. Whatever he had seen had disappeared.

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Millicent Tunes bellowed. “Do you want the whole world to hear us?”

  “If you’re interested in my opinion...,” Marylou said, and caught herself. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard—through the confusion and echoes—the sound of footsteps. Running footsteps. Familiar running footsteps coming closer. Stoner hadn’t forgotten her. Stoner didn’t hate her. She wanted to cry from sheer joy and relief.

  Not now. We have to think now.

  Get their attention so they don’t hear her coming. Give Stoner the advantage of surprise from the rear.

  “Look!” she shrieked, and pointed to the opposite corner. “There it is!”

  David and Millicent swung around, backs to the door, guns ready.

  Stoner skidded to a halt in front of the open door. There were three people in the room. Two of them had guns. The other was Marylou.

  What to do?

  The flashlight in her hand drew attention to itself.

  A long shot, but they weren’t exactly rich with choices. She nodded to Gwen, pointing her in the direction of Millicent Tunes.

  Gwen nodded.

  Silently, in unison, Stoner and Gwen counted to three on their fingers. They threw themselves forward.

  Millicent Tunes turned.

  Gwen rammed her head into Tunes’ midsection.

  Tunes went down.

  “Huh?” David said, and started to turn.

  Stoner swung the flashlight as hard as she could. His head jerked to one side as she smashed him in the temple.

  The impact threw her off balance. She went down hard on one knee. Pain surged up her leg.

  A gun went off with a sharp “crack.”

  David regained his footing and headed for the door. Millicent Tunes scrambled to her feet and ran after him, shoving Aunt Hermione to one side and into the room.

  “No point in running,” Aunt Hermione shouted. “The cops are already here.”

  The door to the concrete room slammed shut behind them.

  There was a sharp metallic sound like a key turning in a lock.

  The lights went out. “Uh-oh,” Marylou said.

  Stoner touched her knee. It felt as if someone were driving an ice pick behind her kneecap.

  He shot me, she thought. But there wasn’t any blood. And hadn’t she felt the pain before she heard the gunshot?

  It was very dark in here.

  “Well,” said Marylou, “I certainly am glad to see you. Figuratively speaking, that is, since we have no light and the switch is on the outside of the door, which is locked. Trust me, I’m an authority on this place. Are the police really on the way?”

  “We hope so,” Stoner said. “Is everybody okay?”

  “I’m fine now,” Marylou said. “And yourself?”

  “I think I broke something. Aunt Hermione?”

  “Right here, dear. Insulted, but not damaged.”

  “Gwen?”

  There was no answer.

  “Gwen!”

  No answer.

  Maybe she’d gotten through the door after them. Maybe she was pursuing them down the hall, and they’d meet up with the police and Gwen would bring them back here and get them out...

  She had a feeling that wasn’t the case. “Gwen?” she asked again in a tight whisper.

  No answer.

  No, she thought, no, no, no…

  She pushed herself up onto her knees. She didn’t care how much it hurt. She scurried across the floor, feeling ahead with her hands.

  And touched something wet and sticky.

  “Oh, God,” she said aloud. “Someone find the flashlight.”

  Frantically, she ran her hands over Gwen’s body, searching for her wrist, her carotid artery, anywhere she might get a pulse. There seemed to be blood everywhere. Warm, thick...the room smelled of salt and metal.

  “The flashlight!” she shouted.

  “I have it,” said Aunt Hermione. “Just a second.”

  “God, I think she’s dead.”

  Marylou gripped her shoulder. “Don’t panic, Stoner. This is no time to lose your head.”

  “I don’t need platitudes! I need help!” Beneath the stickiness of her fingers, she could feel Gwen’s neck, her artery, a slight throbbing. A heart beat. But it could be her own heartbeat. She could be choking Gwen to death.

  She forced herself to sit back. “Where the hell is the flashlight?”

  A faint yellow glow cut a circle in the darkness. “I’m afraid it’s damaged,” Aunt Hermione said.

  It would have to do. In the sickly light, Gwen lay on her stomach, twisted and broken looking, like a doll that had been dropped from a great height. A thick pool of blackness was growing under her.

  Holding her breath, terrified, Stoner slowly turned her over.

  The blackness was all over her left side. Through the pale light, she could see it growing, like a gigantic amoeba. Desperately, she grabbed the flashlight and shone it close to Gwen’s shirt. Now she could see the blood pumping. From her heart? Her lungs?

  Gwen’s face was white, almost phosphorescent.

  Through her panic she thought, blood stops pumping when your heart stops beating. She isn’t dead. Dying, but not dead. Oh, God, ohGod, ohGod.

  She felt Aunt Hermione’s hand on her head, firm, encouraging.

  Go to another level, she thought, and felt herself turn cold. Her emotions turned off. Her practical side kicked in.

  She handed the flashlight to her aunt and shrugged out of her knapsack. “First Aid Kit,” she said sharply.

  Slowly, carefully, concentrating only on her fingertips, she slipped her hand beneath Gwen’s shirt and followed the trail of blood to its source. There it was, just below Gwen’s shoulder, a chewed-feeling chunk of flesh like hamburger. Warm liquid pulsed over her hands. Not her lungs or heart, but the bullet had struck an artery—she slipped her hand over Gwen’s shoulder to her back; the skin beneath was unbroken—and was still inside her.

  Okay.

  First, stop the bleeding.

  “Bandage,” she barked, and reached behind her. Marylou pressed a large square of gauze into her hand. She clamped it over the wound and pressed.

  The blood went on pumping.

  Stoner pressed harder.

  Gwen gave a little moan.

  “I’m sorry,” Stoner said. “I know it hurts, but I have to do it.”

  The blood was still flowing. She took Gwen’s hand in her free hand. It was limp and soft feeling, as if her skin and muscles were being drained of their tone.

  I’m losing her!

  She clamped down on the wound with all her strength.

  Damn it, close!

  Gwen whimpered.

  She forced herself not to hear, not to let it penetrate.

  The flashlight seemed to grow dimmer.

  Stop the blood. She repeated it over and over to herself. Stop the blood, stop the blood, stop the…

  The flow died to a trickle.

  Either the bleeding was drying up, or…

  She fumbled for
a pulse. It was still there—thin, stringy, but still there.

  Stoner held on.

  The light was growing dimmer, shadows creeping back to reclaim the room. In a few moments…

  “Antiseptic,” she said. “And tape. Get it out and put it where you can find it by touch. We’re going to be in the dark any minute.”

  “There are painkillers in here. Should we give them to her?”

  “What are they?”

  A pause while Marylou held the package up to what little light there was. “Anacin.”

  That figured. About as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane. But it might be better than nothing. “Do we have water?”

  “Some wine left from dinner.”

  Stoner laughed a little hysterically. “That’s great, Marylou. This is the perfect time to be elegant.” She looked down at Gwen. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly. Stoner held one hand above her mouth. Tiny puffs of warm air drifted out. “I think she’s unconscious.”

  “Good,” said Marylou.

  “Not particularly.”

  “If I were in her place, I’d want to be unconscious. To tell you the truth, I’d just as soon be unconscious right now.”

  Stoner shook her head. “I’m not sure why, but it’s supposed to be unhealthy.”

  “Well, should we try to wake her up?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced toward the door. “We’re locked in, aren’t we?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Aunt Hermione.

  “Try it, anyway.”

  Her aunt went to the door and rattled the knob. “Locked.”

  “Maybe George and the cops will get here soon,” Marylou said.

  “If they caught Tunes and that guy. And if they told them where we are.”

  “David might,” Marylou said.

  “David?”

  “The guy. We have kind of a relationship.”

  The light faded.

  “I wish my mother were here,” Marylou said.

  “I know what you mean,” Stoner said. “I almost wish my mother were here, Goddess forbid.”

  “Yes, but my mother’s a doctor.”

  “She hasn’t practiced in years.”

  “I’ll bet she’d know how long it’s safe to leave someone unconscious.”

  It was irrelevant, really. Gwen needed more than just being conscious. She needed real help, and real help depended on someone finding them. Soon.