My father and I sat in the back. He handled the boat as easily as he drove a car or cast a line. It was second nature to him, since he’d grown up on the lake.
Elsbeth and Siegfried perched side-by-side in the middle seat, and Lawson took the bow. The boat wallowed low in the water from the additional weight of two grown men.
In the golden afternoon sunlight, the boat skimmed across the lake. I reached my hand over the side to trail my fingers in the tepid water.
When we beached, we pulled the skiff onto shore and followed Siegfried and Elsbeth toward Sharon’s rock. Officer Lawson trailed after the twins, my father followed him, and I took up the rear. A prickly sense of excitement tripped down my spine. Something monumental was about to happen, and I guessed it would be the rescue of Sharon Adamski.
We’d find her today.
I was certain of it.
When we reached the boulder, Elsbeth shrieked, “The fruit is gone! She was here again.” She grabbed Officer Lawson’s hand and pulled him toward it, gesturing toward the rock. “I left apples and bananas right here, Officer Lawson. See? They’re gone.”
Lawson looked left and right and then held out his hand to stop us. “Hold on one minute now, we might be able to get some footprints to find out who’s been taking this food.”
We all stopped short and backed up. I looked at the pine needles that covered the ground, wondering if he’d be able to learn anything. I assumed that our own footprints from the past several days would have been all over the area, since we’d traipsed around there while we hollered for Sharon and ate our lunch.
Officer Lawson bent down and examined the ground, the boulder, and the trees and bushes in the surrounding area.
My father walked beside him, pointing out several tracks he recognized as black bear cub footprints.
The twins sat down on a clump of moss as Elsbeth hummed the tune “Can’t Buy Me Love” and Siegfried carefully observed the investigation. His bright blue eyes flicked back and forth as he analyzed each move.
After five minutes, I became bored and decided to climb a towering oak near the boulder. When I climbed past the first limb, I realized I might be able to spot Sharon from the top of the tree. My father and Officer Lawson stooped over a set of animal tracks, mumbling something about a moose.
I began my swift ascent to the top. Hand over hand, I climbed toward the sky. When I found a particularly good limb, I leaned back and looped my right arm around it. I wasn’t above the tallest treetops, but I could see for quite a distance. The lake glimmered on the horizon. Twittering came from a red tailed hawk’s nest in the next tree over. The mother hawk rose up in her nest and flapped her enormous wings several times, peering at me with sharp eyes.
“It’s okay, girl. I won’t hurt your babies.” I glanced around the forest, looking for some sign of Sharon.
A flash of white whisked through the trees in the distance. It skittered across the forest floor, flickering beneath dense branches. I couldn’t make out the shape, but I was sure it was human.
Galvanized into action, I clambered down the tree at breakneck speed, yelling to my father and Officer Lawson. I fell from the last branch onto a clump of ferns. “Dad! I saw her! She’s over that way,” I screamed. I began to run toward the flash of white that I was certain was Sharon.
Officer Lawson grabbed me and peered into my face. “What did you see?” he asked firmly.
“I climbed that tree and saw something white again, it was running in that direction. It wasn’t too far from us. Hurry! We might lose her.”
“You kids stay here,” my father said. He took off with Officer Lawson at a run.
Elsbeth leapt to her feet and stared at me in wonder. “Did you see her this time? Was it Sharon?”
My heartbeat quickened. I nodded, watching as the men melted into the woods, calling Sharon’s name. I hoped that they wouldn’t frighten her into bolting farther from us. “I think so. It was just like before. Someone in white. It was running. I caught glimpses from up there.” I pointed to the tree. Suddenly, both of the twins raced toward the oak and climbed like monkeys to the top. Elsbeth followed Siegfried. I stayed below, peering into the woods, hoping for a sign of Sharon.
Siegfried shouted from the top of the tree, his voice infused with excitement. “Over there, Gus. I see something. Over there! It’s running that way,” he cried.
I peered up through the blinding sunlight and could barely see his long arm gesturing in the air. It was about thirty degrees off from the direction in which I’d sent my father and Officer Lawson. She must have darted sideways in her attempt to avoid them. I wished fervently that I could talk to her, tell her that we weren’t here to hurt her.
I set my sight on a particularly tall pine in the distance that seemed to coincide with direction of Siegfried’s flailing arm and began to run toward it at full speed.
I heard the twins yelling from the treetop, telling me to veer to the right. I turned right and leapt over a thick bush, plunging through the woods at breakneck speed.
After racing hard for a few minutes, I began to tire. The sound of the twins’ voices disappeared. I hoped I’d run in the right direction, but now wasn’t sure. Just as I rounded a clump of decaying birch trees, a white shirt filled my vision and something reached out from behind a tree trunk, grabbing me around the middle.
Someone’s hand clamped over my mouth. I struggled against my attacker, kicking and yelling. I beat him with my fists and squirmed to get out of his iron grip. To my astonishment, he lifted me off the ground, his rough hand wrapped around my neck. I couldn’t breathe and struggled harder to get loose.
He released my neck, but pulled a scratchy burlap bag over my head. I could breathe now, but I couldn’t see.
I continued to struggle and writhe against strong arms that held me. I screamed, calling my father as I sucked air through the bristly burlap.
The monster’s hand went back over my mouth again, pressing the awful burlap into my lips and teeth. “Shaddup!” he hissed. “Shaddup, or you’re dead.”
The voice was low and gravelly. I smelled the whisky on his breath.
Frank Adamski.
I heard his belt being unbuckled and felt a chill as he whipped the belt out of his pants.
Is he gonna flog me?
My breathing quickened.
He roughly drew my hands together and tightened the belt. “Bringin’ the cops around. Just great. You kids were bad enough, now I have to deal with that idiot Lawson,” he grumbled, towing me through the woods.
I stumbled behind him as he half-carried/half-dragged me. My face was smothered with rough fabric and my neck was sore where he’d grabbed me. I tried to go limp to make him loosen his grip. Quieting my thrashing arms and legs, I went still. If I could just slip down from his arms and get the bag off my head, I might have a chance.
Instead of loosening his hold, the monster suddenly lifted me up across his shoulders and carried me like a ten-pound sack of potatoes.
Humiliated, my fear foamed into anger and I fumed in the awkward position, kicking my feet and yelling again.
The man’s arm was locked across the back of my knees. He started to run. I bounced up and down on his shoulder, jostled around until nausea threatened. I twisted my hands, trying to loosen them from the belt. It didn’t help.
Raising my hands to my face, I tried to push the bag up so I could see. I was only partially successful, and caught a glimpse of the back of the man’s legs and shoes running over the woodland grasses. I stopped yelling, hoping to hear my father or the twins’ voices. Except for the sounds of his crashing feet, it was absolutely silent, and the much hoped-for sound of my father’s voice was not to be heard.
Chapter 35
Frank Adamski dumped me on the floor.
I land in a heap and my shoulder smarted where I’d taken the brunt of the fall. I could see out the bottom of the hood where it rode up after my fall. For the time being, I tried to catch my breath and lay still, watc
hing him move around the cabin.
He fastened long dark curtains over the open window frames. They were wool, cut from the bolts William and I had seen hidden beneath the floorboards on Sunday evening. Adamski pressed them onto nails hammered above the windowsills. The room darkened. I shivered on the hard, musty floor and pondered my fate, sure this was the same old shack William and I had checked out.
Will he kill me? And where was Sharon?
I shifted onto my left side and watched him beneath the hem of the grain sack until he disappeared while rummaging along one of the wall shelves.
The smell of sulfur filled the air. Adamski walked around to my field of vision again and lit an oil lamp on the dusty table. Several empty bottles of whisky reflected in the eerie glow.
Next to the empty bottles sat a bunch of bananas and four small apples.
My breath caught in my throat. Staring at the produce on the table, I recognized the bag and the small, penciled note laying crumpled beside it. Blood roared in my ears and I nearly shouted when I realized Frank Adamski had taken our offerings for Sharon since the first day I chased “her” through the forest.
I shivered and thought back to the day I’d seen the flash of white.
Had it been Sharon? Was she still alive? Or had this drunken ogre been following us all along, waiting for the right moment to pounce on us? Had he seen us that night? Did he know we witnessed the chase? Perhaps he heard from the police reports that we were involved. After all, the police were in constant contact with Sharon’s father after her disappearance.
A feeling of cold dread slid into the pit of my stomach, spitting like grease on a grill. I felt like throwing up.
Frank reached across the table to a fresh bottle, ripped the seal from the neck, and unscrewed the cap. He muttered and he walked around, swearing and tilting the bottle to his lips. “Can’t leave a witness,” he rasped. “Gotta get rid of these stinkin’ kids.” He continued to drink until his eyes gleamed with a dull black luster. He ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin, leaning down to leer into my face and expelling a cloud of noxious odors.
He barked a chilling laugh. “Watchin’ me, huh, kid?” He laughed and slid the bag off of my head. “Go ahead and take one last look around, you meddling little crap shooter.”
Cold sweat trickled along my brow. My stomach bucked. “I think I’m gonna throw up,” I said in a shaky voice.
My response must have startled him, for he stopped dead and strode purposefully toward me. “No time for that, kid.”
He jerked up my tethered arms and dragged me across the rough floorboards toward an old metal cot in the corner of the room. Without hesitating, he flung the thin mattress off the bed. A musty aroma filled the air.
Why had he done that? It made no sense.
The lumpy thing landed on the cabin floor, sending up more clouds of dust. Suddenly he reached down and unbuckled the belt from my wrists. Before I could pull back and try for the door, he clamped one huge hand around my arms and re-fastened the belt through the bed frame, securing me to the old cot.
I struggled, but he turned his back to me and walked over to the hiding place William and I had discovered in the floor. He lifted the floorboard and drew out his toolbox and a bolt of fabric. Slowly, he unraveled the dark material, tossing it aside in an untidy heap. The centerboard was carved into a long, thin cavity. Reaching under his tee shirt, he pulled hard a strip of adhesive tape. Gasping, he ripped black hairs from his broad chest along with a foot-long scepter that sparkled in the candle light. Finally, he nestled it in the cavity and began to rewind the wool around the cardboard center.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. Fear melted away as I watched, fascinated.
He tilted his head toward me, rolling the fabric back around the centerboard. “Pretty, huh? It’ll fetch me a pretty penny in Europe. Those fools up at St. Martin’s won’t even miss it ‘til next Sunday.”
He hefted the woolen bolt under one arm, picked up the toolbox, and glowered at me. “You shoulda minded your own business, you little weasel.” He headed for the door and set his tool box and the bolt of fabric onto the porch.
Was he going to leave me here? I became hopeful, realizing that in time I would be discovered by a search party or would be able to worm my way out of the belt that held me captive.
He sneered at me. His face twisted into an ugly grin, as if he read my mind. “Oh no, you’re not going to have time to get loose. You’ll be burned up by then.” He took a few purposefully steps back inside, heading for the oil lamp. With a gleeful smile, he folded the mattress against the side of the table and dumped the lamp on top of it. The flames began to lick hungrily at the dry cotton batting.
“See ya in Hell, little buddy.” He backed out of the door, still laughing maliciously.
I panicked. Twisting and writhing, I began to work at the belt that held me to the bed frame. My heart thumped hard against my ribs. I pulled and pushed, struggling frantically. The lashing was tight and held fast in spite of my gyrations.
The fire had traveled up the table leg, and was flickering onto one of the woolen curtains. Smoke filled the room, gagging me. I began to cough.
Re-examining my bonds, I leaned over and began to work on the belt buckle with my teeth. I pushed hard against the thick leather end of the belt, trying to make it bulge up in the buckle. If I could move it slightly, then I could pull it with my teeth and yank on the loose end to release the metal prong from the hole.
It didn’t budge. I tasted the thick leather on my tongue and fought against the feeling of desperation. My eyes began to water from the smoke. I worked for several minutes with no success. The angle was wrong and I couldn’t get a good grip.
Flames flew along the cabin wall in a sudden eruption as a bottle of kerosene exploded on the shelf. The fire traveled across the floorboards, moving toward the bed frame against which I writhed and pulled.
Realizing my current tactics were useless, I began to drag the cot toward the window on the far side of the cabin. I pulled hard and found it could be dragged fairly easily. I reached the window and with my teeth and tethered hands, I pulled at the wool curtain. It came down in a heap around my feet. Smoke billowed out the opening. The fresh oxygen fanned the flames and revitalized the fire. It roared across the room toward me. I kicked the fabric away, trying to minimize the fuel for the hungry fire that worked its way toward me.
I stuck my head out the window. “Help! Dad. Siegfried. I’m in here.” I lifted the end of the rusty cot from the floorboards and tried to gauge its width. Could I drag it behind me out the window? I yelled again, and then began to panic in earnest, feeling the heat of the fire on my bare arms and face. It had traveled along the roof now, and would momentarily begin to work its way down the wall. I lifted one leg to the windowless sill and straddled it. Moving quickly now, I threw my other leg over the sill. Both feet barely touched the ground and my upper body was still held fast to the end of the cot. I dragged it closer to the window and began to lift it, using every ounce of my remaining strength.
Hot tears spilled down my face. I pulled it nearly to the frame and was straining to twist the end so that it would fit lengthwise in the opening, when the fire flared above me and began to burn the upper end of the windowsill.
Hysterical now, I screamed and pulled hard. The end of the cot stuck in the window frame, holding fast.
I stared in horror, watching flames lick the side of the cabin.
Struggling to breathe through the thick smoke, suddenly I felt strong hands close over me and loosen the belt buckle. Someone dragged me away from the inferno just as the entire cabin was engulfed in flames. The roar of the fire filled the forest and he dragged me back, far from the blaze.
I looked up into the horrified face of my father and was soon surrounded by Officer Lawson and the twins. My father crushed me to his chest, repeating over and over again, “My boy. My son.”
I melted into the safety of my father’s embrace, sobbing wi
th relief as he patted my head and enfolded me against his chest.
In the distance, Officer Lawson barked into his radio, ordering airborne fire fighters and an ambulance. Just before I blacked out, I heard Siegfried telling him that the blueberry field was just up the trail, and that it would make an excellent spot for a rendezvous.
Chapter 36
On Wednesday morning, the day after the fire, I rubbed the spot on my arm punctured by the IV. A wide Band-Aid secured a cotton pad over the wound. It itched and pulled at my skin. We’d been in the emergency room all night long and had finally been allowed to go home when the pediatrician arrived at seven A.M.
“Leave it alone, Gus,” my mother cautioned gently.
We wound our way over the bumpy dirt road to camp.
“The nurse said to leave it on until tonight, remember, honey?”
I stopped picking at the edge of the Band-Aid and nodded obediently, leaning back against the seat. I’d slept very little in the hospital. The oxygen mask I was forced to wear had been awful, and the cries of the feverish infant in the bed beside me awakened me periodically throughout the night. My parents had taken turns sitting in the single chair beside my bed, never leaving my side.
I thought back to the day before, remembering the ride to the hospital. I’d woken up in the ambulance briefly. My father had crouched beside the cot, his hand gripping mine.
Officer Lawson had come to ask questions after I was admitted, and scribbled furiously in his book, listening to me recount what had happened. I told him about Frank Adamski, about the fruit and the note, and about the golden scepter from St. Martin’s I saw Adamski hide in the bolt of wool. Officer Lawson’s eyes widened when I told him about the stolen item, and I wondered if it was reported missing yet. He told my father there was an intensive search in progress for the depraved man. By morning, we’d received no word of his capture, but passed a number of state troopers along the way to camp. The search was still in full force by the time we arrived at Loon Harbor.
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