Blackened

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Great,” said Jack.

  Mike smiled and pulled out his flashlight. The beam sliced through the darkness in the stairwell, illuminating a set of old, worn steps. The first step creaked under his weight, and he froze for a moment.

  “Be careful,” Sally called, sounding for all the world like that was the last thing she wanted them to do.

  “She’s not so good at lying,” whispered Jack.

  “No.” Mike climbed down the stairs, careful where he put his feet, playing the light across the steps. The steps led to a tiny room, perhaps six by six. The room was bare, just the bottom of the staircase and a single door.

  Mike walked across to the door, the stench of decay filling his nose and mouth. “There’s the vile stench,” he said.

  “Rats,” said Jack. “In the walls.”

  “My ass,” said Mike.

  The single door was locked from the inside, but the wood felt spongy, weak. Mike put his shoulder to it, and the screws holding the door to the hinges squealed and popped out of the wood. The door fell inward with a crash.

  “Be careful!” Sally cried from above them.

  Beyond the door was a long, narrow room. The wall parallel to the back of the building held three doors. As with the first room, all the doors were locked, but this time, each door had a deadbolt that required a key. With a shrug, Jack kicked the first door, sending it flying down the narrow corridor it hid.

  The funk that rolled out of the hallway was atrocious, and both men grimaced and coughed. “Cadavers,” Jack said.

  Mike’s face was grim and set. “I believe so.” He gestured down the door-lined corridor, each door with an iron hasp holding it closed. “We better get to work.”

  Jaws clenched, they started opening the doors. The small cells were empty—at least of human remains—but there were signs of torture and perhaps more. They made a quick check of the other two hallways, but there were no bodies, just effluvium, and evil-doings.

  “Call the SD,” said Mike. “Get backup down here fast. Then call the Staties and ask for forensic support. Tell them I’m the one making the request.”

  Jack nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  “Arrest that fat bitch upstairs. I want this place guarded, Jack, so call the security guys in. No one in or out of this building without my express approval.”

  “Ten-four, Chief.”

  Mike stomped back up the stairs, Jack close behind him. When they reached the vestibule, Mike pointed at the front doors and turned into the nave. “Sally, you’re fucked well and good.” The puddle of water was creeping across the wooden floor, the carpets lay where they had been, the up-turned bucket rested where she’d tipped it, but of Sally, there was no sign. “Dammit! Now, I have to chase your fat ass!” He pressed the tips of his fingers against his eyelids until all he could see were swaths of purple, blue, green, and pink. He’d never wanted a drink as bad as he did right then.

  “Jack!” he called. “BOLO on the fat bitch. Red Botha, too.”

  3

  Mike was still standing in front of Play Time when the silver Honda pulled up and parked outside the crime scene tape. There was a familiar man driving, but Mike couldn’t place him. A man in an NYSP windbreaker got out and nodded. Mike sketched a salute and turned back to watch the other Staties—the forensics team—ferrying evidence bags out of the church and over to their van.

  “Chief Richards?” someone asked.

  The trooper who had just pulled up stood there looking at him. He had one hand on the elbow of the familiar man. The familiar man in handcuffs. “That’s me,” Mike said.

  “Scott Lewis,” the trooper said. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Mike shook his head. “He looks familiar, but I have no idea who he is.”

  “His name is Andrew Reid. He says he reported this.” Lewis gestured at the church. “Said he called to report a body. Know anything about that?”

  “Yeah, one of my officers fielded the call. It was anonymous though.”

  The trooper nodded. “So he said. Listen, though. My daughter’s missing, and this guy had her ID. He says he got it from the cellar of that place.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes and looked the familiar man up and down. He didn’t remember him, no matter how familiar he looked. He turned and looked at the crowd of law enforcement officers milling around in front of the church. “Jack!” he called.

  King came on the run, equipment jingling in time to his steps. “Yeah, Chief?”

  Mike hooked his thumb at the stranger in cuffs. “This guy says he’s the one who called you.”

  Jack turned on his hard cop face and looked the man up and down. “Tell me what you said.”

  The stranger cleared his throat. “I told you that there was trouble at Play Time, that I found the body of a teenaged girl in the cellar.”

  Jack nodded. “That’s him.” His eyes tracked down to the handcuffs and then over to Trooper Lewis. “Something I should know?”

  “This guy claims the body he found is the trooper’s missing daughter,” said Mike.

  “It is,” said Reid.

  Jack looked him up and down. “That had better not be some bullshit story, fella.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” said Reid. “Though, I understand your reaction, Officer. To be honest, I’d feel the same way.”

  Trooper Lewis caught Mike’s eye. He reached into his back pocket and flipped a newspaper clipping open. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Mike squinted at a picture of a large, heavyset man standing next to Lewis, each holding up a commendation. Mike nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen him.”

  Lewis leaned forward. “Yesterday?” The question was sharp, clipped. “He drives a blue Maxima.”

  Mike shrugged. “He’s around a lot. Not sure he’s a resident, though. I think he stays with Red Bortha sometimes.” He looked into Lewis’ blazing eyes. “Why?”

  “That’s a picture of my partner, Lee LaBouche. This guy says LaBouche killed my daughter.”

  Mike looked at Reid. “Is that so?”

  “It is,” Reid said, as calm and composed as a judge. “But I bet he wasn’t driving his own car yesterday.”

  Lewis glanced at him, horror drawing deep lines on his forehead. “A Subaru WRX? Silver one?”

  “Yeah, that car came into town last night, but a kid was driving it,” said Jack.

  “A kid?” asked Lewis. “Tan? Looked like a surfer?”

  Jack nodded. “Come to think of it, I saw the car around all day, but the kid disappeared. A big lunk of a man drove the car around this afternoon.”

  “Was it this man?” Lewis held the newspaper clipping out.

  “Yeah, I believe so.”

  “Do you see, Trooper Lewis? I wasn’t lying to you. LaBouche is dangerous and—”

  Mike stopped listening. Either the guy’s telling the truth or he’s a great liar. Time will tell us which. He glanced at the crowd of looky-loos standing around gawking at the crime scene. A tall, bearded man caught his eye.

  His beard and his hair were long and unkempt, with wisps of dirty blond woven throughout. He wore hospital scrubs and had nothing on his feet. He had piercing blue eyes that seemed to latch on to Mike's gaze. A slow grin spread across the man’s face. He lifted his hand and flashed a nonchalant wave.

  Mike cocked his head to the side and walked over to the crime scene tape. “Can I help you, sir?” The guy stank like he hadn’t showered in a month and had then rolled around in a cow pasture.

  “Hi, Mike. Long time no see. Since we were eleven, I’d guess. That day in the woods, remember?”

  “What?”

  “You’ll remember. I did after I left Millvale. I remembered a lot of things.”

  “Who are you? Toby?”

  “Tobias.”

  “Right, Tobias.” Mike tugged on his ear like he wanted it to come off.

  “What’s Toby doing here, Mike?”

  “What?” Mike shook his head like he was trying to clear out t
he cobwebs.

  “He’s right over there.” Tobias lifted his arm and pointed at the man in handcuffs.

  Mike shook his head. Don’t have time for this shit tonight. “Come with me, Tobias. Let’s get you inside out of the cold. Your feet have to be freezing.”

  Tobias ducked under the tape. “Okay. Let’s go say hi to Toby, first.”

  Mike scowled down at the street and let his breath rattle out between his teeth. “You are Toby Burton.”

  The man glanced at him sideways, an idiotic grin floating on his lips. “Come on, Mike. Quit teasing.”

  Mike gritted his teeth. Humor the poor bastard, he thought. He put his hand on Tobias’ shoulder. “Okay, no more teasing. Come with me.” He pointed at Trooper Lewis, Reid, and Jack. “Tobias, do you remember Jack King? He was a year behind us.”

  Tobias shook his head. “No, no I don’t. A year behind, you say?”

  Mike nodded. “Anyway, that’s him, the Oneka Falls officer.”

  “Oh.”

  “Jack, remember Tobias Burton?” Mike called. The three men turned to look at them, and Reid’s eyes stretched wide. Jack nodded politely.

  “Say, Chief,” said Jack. “Did you take Shannon home?”

  “No, she’s right over…” He trailed off as he looked over at Shamu. The car was empty. “Maybe she walked home. It’s not far.”

  The skin between Jack’s eyebrows knotted. “Should I go check on her?”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah. Do that.”

  “Hi, Benny,” Reid said. “When did you get out?”

  “A week? No, a month?” He shook his head and laughed like a kid. “I don’t know, the details are still fuzzy. But don’t call me Benny. I gave you that name so you could get out last year. Anyway, someone might hear you, and then the game is up.”

  Reid frowned. “Benny, I…” He grimaced and lifted both hands to rub his chin. “So I could get out? Get out of where?”

  “Tobias. Call me Tobias, Toby. And don’t joke, I’ve already had my fill of it from Mike here.”

  Reid’s ears turned red, and he shuffled his feet, looking away into the darkness. “Why is he calling me Toby?” he muttered.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Tobias called me from the Millvale State Hospital yesterday.” He cast a meaningful look at the other men.

  “He’s Benny. Benny Cartwright,” said Reid. “How do I know that?” he murmured.

  Lewis looked back and forth between the three of them. “What the hell is going on around here?”

  Mike shook his head. “I have no fucking idea.”

  4

  Shannon cowered in the darkness of the tumbledown wooden shack. The air in the shack tasted like rotten wood and damp earth. She pressed back into the corner farthest from the only door. There were no windows in the shack, so the only light was the moonlight that snuck through the cracks between the old planks that made up the walls.

  That pig of a man, Red Bortha, had walked right up to Mike’s cruiser, bold as brass. Before Shannon had even considered hitting the power locks, he’d grabbed the door handle and yanked the door open. He hadn’t spoken a word to her—he’d just hooked her arm in his paw of a hand and jerked her right out of the car. He hadn’t said anything to her when he’d shoved her into his old pickup truck, nor when he’d plucked her out of it and pushed her into the shack.

  She thought he was still outside—the pickup hadn’t started up—but he either moved like a mouse, or wasn’t moving around out there. She couldn’t even hear him breathing. It was as if he’d shoved her inside, closed the door, and disappeared into thin air. So far, she hadn’t been able to work up the courage to get up and check to see if Bortha had locked the door.

  Despite what she’d told Mike, she could remember what happened to her when she was nine. At least the part about being left in the woods, and old Mr. Thorndike leading them to safety and then dying of a heart attack. She didn’t know why that made her think of Benny Cartwright. Was he there when Mr. Thorndike dropped me off at the Town Hall? His dad worked for the town, right?

  That mess had been buried in the substrata of her mind for a long time, and she wanted it to stay there. Besides Mike and Jack, she didn’t waste time reminiscing about anyone from school. She liked Jack—as a friend—and Mike…well, Mike was Mike. None of the other kids in school had made enough of a dent in the cotton candy world she’d lived in after the kidnapping. She vaguely remembered a girl she used to play with before—

  What the hell am I doing? Woolgathering like a drooling idiot! I’ve got to find a way out of here before Red rapes me. Or kills me.

  Or both!

  She pushed with her legs and slid up the wall, the rough wood burning across her shoulders. Her knees shook with fear as she pushed herself away from the wall. She took a baby step toward the door and then froze, listening for Red—for anything outside the door. The night seemed frozen. There was no wind sound, no animal sounds, no breathing, no explosions, no sirens wailing in the distance. Nothing. She crept across the small space and pressed her ear against the door. Cars passed on a road somewhere in the distance—too far to be of any use. She pressed her eye to one of the cracks between the planks of the door and peered into the night. She couldn’t see anything moving, not even branches or leaves fluttering in the wind—it was too dark.

  Being as quiet as the church mouse most people in town assumed she was, she opened the door a crack and then froze. Nothing crashed out of the woods, nothing lunged at her from the side of the shack.

  She wiped her clammy palms on the denim stretched tight across her rear. Her stomach ached from the effort of keeping her breathing under control and quiet. She nudged the door open farther with shaking fingertips. Unbidden, the image of Red slapping the door open and grabbing her by the throat flashed through her mind. The vision was so violent, so foreign, that it felt like a violation—an assault in and of itself. All she wanted to do was find a safe place to curl up and hide until Mike came to rescue her. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come? she asked herself. It’s been hours and hours. Hasn’t it?

  Red had broken her phone. Her new phone. Her nostrils flared like a bull at the thought. That damn thing cost me two whole paychecks, and now it’s nothing but broken glass and smashed up aluminum lying in the road somewhere. She wanted to punch Red Bortha right in the mouth for that…or knee him between his fat thighs. Her lips peeled back from her teeth as she imagined slamming her knee into Red’s groin and the big man crying out as he fell to the ground. She shoved the door open, hard this time. Her heart was beating an angry tempo in her ears. She stepped outside like she owned the place. She glanced to the right. Nothing moved. She glanced to the left and screamed.

  Red Bortha stood inches from her face, his mouth opened wide—so wide it looked like his jaw hinged like a snake’s. His filed teeth ended in sharp points and it looked like there were far, far too many of them. His breath washed over her, smelling like a polluted river full of rotting corpses. Lightning quick, his tongue shot out of his mouth and slapped against her cheek like a frog nabbing a fly.

  Shannon froze. There was a weird noise filling the clearing where the wretched old shack stood. It shrieked like air sliding out of a balloon with its throat pinched.

  Bortha snapped his mouth shut, just missing the tip of her nose. “Shut your fucking mouth, you worthless sow!” he hissed.

  She closed her mouth so fast her teeth snicked together with a sharp pain. The keening wail stopped. Was that me making that god-awful noise?

  “Yeah, you idiot,” Red breathed in her ear. “Make it again, and I will bite your nipples off.” Shannon shuddered at the image the words brought to her mind. Bortha slapped his hand between her breasts, and she had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking again. Red laughed, sounding like a vicious schoolyard bully. He pushed her, and she fell reeling back into the shack, arms pinwheeling, feet shuffling to stay underneath her. “Don’t you come out here again, piggy. I might forget that your old friend Herl
equin ordered me to leave you alone.” Threat oozed from the words.

  Shannon backed into the corner. Red slammed the door so hard dirt showered down from the ceiling. Her tight muscles quivered with strain and gave way like a tire with a slow leak. She sank to the earthen floor, friction from the rough wooden planks burning across her shoulder blades. Her butt hit the dirt, and she sobbed.

  5

  “Mike,” said Benny.

  Reid shifted his hands, rattling the handcuffs, earning himself a hard glance from Lewis. “They’re a little tight,” he said.

  Chief Richards scoffed. “One of you two better start making sense, or, childhood friends or not, I’m locking you both up.”

  “Mike,” said Benny.

  “We were friends?” asked Drew. “I…I don’t remember anything from before I was fourteen.”

  “Fourteen? If I remember right, that was the year Benny Cartwright got out of Millvale. He never came back to Oneka Falls though.”

  “Dr. Reid has legitimate ID,” said Trooper Lewis. “I checked. Did a deep background check, too, and this man is Dr. Andrew Reid.”

  “Mike,” said Benny.

  “This is like this weird nightmare,” said Drew. “How do I know—”

  “Cut it, Reid,” snapped Lewis.

  “MIKE!” yelled Benny.

  “What? For God’s sake, what?”

  “Where’s Shannon?” Benny stood hunched, half turned away from the other men. His shoulders were up like he was tensing for a blow, and sweat poured from him, despite the chill in the air.

  “She went home.”

  “No, Mike, I don’t think so. She’s…”

  Drew stared at the bearded man. He knew him somehow, but he didn’t understand how or why he believed it with such vigor, he didn’t remember the guy at all.

  “Relax, Tobias,” said Richards. “Everything is okay. I sent Jack over to check on her.”

  “Jack?” asked Benny, tilting his head to the side.

  “Yeah, Jack King. You met him a minute ago, standing right here.”

  “Is he one of them?”

  Richards shook his head and tugged his belt into a more comfortable position. “One of who?”