Captives (Nightmare Hall) (14 page)

Oh, Molloy, he thought, and wasn’t ashamed at all that tough old Ernie Dodd had tears of despair in his eyes as the vicious current, caring nothing about how much Ernie Dodd loved Molloy Book, swept him downstream.

M
OLLOY GASPED AS THE
arm went around her neck, squeezing painfully. Her free hand dug into flesh, but since she bit her nails, they were harmless, and the grip didn’t lessen. She kicked backward with one foot. It connected, with what felt like a leg in jeans, but the blow was as useless as her fingernails had been,

“The last captive,” the voice behind her whispered, “I can take my time with you. There’s no hurry, since your little messenger pigeon never got very far from the coop. You girls really shouldn’t have trespassed, you know. It’s not polite.”

“You
did!” she gasped.
“You
trespassed!” The grip tightened angrily. “You really are stupid. You talk to me like that when I’m in the catbird seat here? You should be begging for mercy.
He
would have, but I never gave him the chance.”

The darkness in the hall ahead of her began to waver like drunken shadows. Her head felt like it was about to explode. Toni was lying out on the kitchen floor, helpless. He would move from Molloy, when he had finished with her, to Toni, pick her off as easily as he might flick a fly off his arm. She couldn’t let that happen.

She was still holding the telephone in her right hand. It was a black desk model, old and heavy, with a rotary dial. In order to dial in the dark, she had picked up the entire phone, not just the receiver.

“I
hate
you!” she gasped, and her right arm came up and sideways with all of the strength she could muster to where she thought, hoped, prayed, his head had to be.

She couldn’t see, but she could hear the telephone collide with bone. It hit hard. He shouted an oath, released his grip. She heard his feet staggering backward. She whirled, saw a shape in the darkness, stumbling dizzily, holding its hands to its head, muttering obscenities.

He is
a killer,
Molloy reminded herself. And darting two steps forward, she struck another blow.

He went down. She saw his body go limp, saw his head loll to one side as he landed.

She couldn’t believe it. The person she had feared the most, this dangerous, maniacal killer, was lying unconscious on the carpet in front of her. He hadn’t murdered her. She was still alive.

Gasping for breath, her legs feeling like mush, her entire system shocked to the core, Molloy dropped the phone and ran for the kitchen.

Toni was still quiet.

Molloy didn’t know what to do next.

Leave? Get out of the house while he was harmless and couldn’t stop them?

And go where? And how could she carry Toni
and
Lynne? He wouldn’t be unconscious long. She hadn’t hit him that hard. She couldn’t run out to get help and make it back here before he woke up.

And she couldn’t leave Toni and Lynne here with him. When he did wake up, he’d be insane with rage. He’d take it out on them.

Molloy raced back down the hall again, and over to the stairs to untie the clothesline from the stair rail. When she had it in her hands, she turned to stare at the dark shape lying on the old carpet a few feet away from her. She was terrified of going near him. He could be playing possum; waiting until she got close enough, only to reach up and grab her legs, pull her down, and choke the very life out of her.

She would have to take that chance. She couldn’t leave him here, unfettered. The second he woke up, he’d be after her and Toni. And then he’d finish off Lynne. And he’d get away with it, with all of it. If she didn’t stop him.

But she only had this one piece of rope. If she tied only his legs and left his hands free, he’d untie himself. If she tied only his hands, he could still walk or run to the kitchen and, although she couldn’t see him clearly in the dark foyer, she could tell that he was big enough to harm her even with his hands tied.

The solution came to her then. She could use the clothesline to tie his hands to the stair railing. But first, she’d have to drag him over to the foot of the stairs. That wouldn’t be easy.

Molloy had had many terrifying moments since she’d arrived at Nightmare Hall, but reaching out and grasping the feet of someone she knew to be a vicious killer proved to be her worst moment. She imagined him suddenly waking, the feet lashing out at her, kicking her in the midriff, sending her flying across the room. And then she would be helpless against his wrath.

Clenching her teeth so tightly that pain shot through her jaw, she bent down, grasped the feet, and pulled. He seemed to weigh a ton. His huge sneakers were covered with thick, gooey mud, and her hands kept slipping. But she held on, dragging the bulk one step at a time, until he was close enough to the railing that she could roll him over and wrap the clothesline tightly around his hands.

Then she tied the loose ends to the stair railing.

Now you’re
my
captive, she thought with a wicked glee that startled her, almost frightening her.

“Molloy!” Toni screamed from the kitchen, and after hastily tying the last knot, Molloy picked up her skirt hem and raced down the hallway.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she said, rushing to Toni’s side. Her face looked worse than it had before, her bruises turning an ugly purple, her lower lip swollen to twice its normal size. Her head must have hit the ground hard. Without the mud, she was sure Toni’s skull would have been fractured. This awful storm had its good side, after all.

“You can forget about him, Toni,” she said, kneeling. “I smacked him a good one with the telephone, and tied him up to the stair railing. We’ll be okay until help gets here. When that policeman who was here doesn’t call in on his radio, they will send someone here to find out why, right? And we’re okay until then. He can’t hurt us now.”

“Cold,” Toni said, shivering under her white canvas wrap, “so cold …”

“What’s wrong with me?” Molloy jumped to her feet, tripping on the hem of her skirt. “There’s a teakettle and the stove is working, and I saw teabags in the pantry. Now that we don’t have to worry about being attacked at any second, I’ll make you some tea. But first I’m going to get rid of this skirt. It’s driving me crazy. Time to shorten it.” Reaching down, she ripped off the entire bottom half of the skirt. The fabric was old and flimsy, and tore easily. “There! Much better. I don’t know how women got anything done in these clothes.” Tossing the fabric aside, she filled the teakettle at the sink, put it on the stove to boil, her hands trembling the whole time, and went to the pantry to get teabags, keeping up a steady flow of pointless conversation in the hope that Toni would remain conscious. She felt less alone when Toni was awake.

Where were those police officers, anyway? Weren’t they worried about their Officer Reardon?

“Listen,” she went over to tell Toni, who seemed awake, although her eyes looked dull, “while the water’s boiling, I want to go up and check on Lynnie, okay? I haven’t been up there since we first came down, and I’m worried sick about her. Remember, I told you that guy is unconscious and tied up and he can’t hurt you, right? So you’ll be okay here while I run up the back stairs. I’ll come right back down, I promise,”

Toni nodded, but Molloy wasn’t at all sure that she’d heard a word said to her,

Molloy didn’t like the back staircase. It was fully enclosed, dark and shadowy, and very narrow. She had hastily grabbed one of the candles before she left the kitchen, but she had gone up no more than three stairs when a draught from above blew it out. It was almost gone, anyway. Now she was on the back staircase in the dark. But the prospect of turning around and going back down to use the front staircase was equally unpalatable. She would have to pass by her attacker, and she couldn’t face that. She scooted up the stairs as quickly as she could.

Coming back down would be a different story. Maybe she could work up enough courage to go down the front staircase. Anyway, it was probably a good idea to check on him, make sure he was still out like a light.

She was breathing hard, and weak-kneed, by the time she reached the top of the attic stairs, and realized that she was not only cold and exhausted, she was also very, very hungry. Nothing to eat since before they left at three yesterday afternoon. It had to be at least three or four in the morning by now. Twelve hours. She hadn’t gone twelve hours without food since the last time she had the flu. No wonder she was weak. And she couldn’t
afford
to be weak now. Not even a little bit.

“Lynne?” she said softly, hurriedly making her way through the boxes and trunks, bending low to avoid cracking her head on the rafters. “Lynnie, it’s Molloy.”

“Help me,” someone groaned then from somewhere to the left of her. But it wasn’t Lynne’s voice. It was a man’s voice, and it was full of pain.

For one shocked moment, Molloy thought the killer had escaped his bonds.

But when the voice came again, she knew who it was then, who it had to be. The policeman. Officer Reardon. This was why he had never come back downstairs.

At least he was alive.

Quickly glancing down at Lynne, still in the trunk, her breathing still shallow, Molloy called softly. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

“Over here. On the floor.”

Molloy felt her way to the left, pushing aside old lampshades and piles of magazines and moth-eaten sweaters and coats. “Keep talking, if you can,” she instructed. “It helps.”

“Can’t … too hard. You’re almost here, I can tell.” Then he fell silent.

But she could hear his breathing. It sounded terrible, ragged and whistling.

She found him half-buried beneath a pile of old curtains that he must have pulled down on top of him when he fell. Tossing the curtains aside, she gasped in horror when she saw the skinny, tubular piece of black metal impaled in the center of his chest. Even in the dark, she could see the round, uneven stain of red encircling the tube,

“Let you down,” he gasped. “Sorry. Came out of nowhere, the guy …”

“I know. Don’t talk. I’ve tied him up, so it’s okay. And I’m sure someone will be here any minute now. If they don’t come soon, I’ll have to go for help. I don’t know what to do for you, though. You need a doctor.”

“Cold,” he said, echoing Toni’s complaint. “I’m cold.”

She covered him up again with the curtains, piling them high, and couldn’t think of anything else that would help. Like Lynne, he needed medical attention.

She hated to leave him, and Lynne. But Toni was downstairs alone. Even with the killer tied up, she’d still be frightened. And she desperately needed something hot to warm her. The tea Molloy had promised.

“I’ll bring you up something hot to drink,” she told the injured officer. “And I’ll see if I can find some bandages.” But she knew she could never, not in a million years, pull that piece of tubing from his chest in order to bandage his wound. Hadn’t she read somewhere that you should never remove an object that has penetrated the skin because the patient might bleed to death if you did? If she could just keep him warm, maybe that would be enough.

Then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Molloy fought back tears as she made her way back down the attic stairs. She had no choices left.

She would have to go for help, as Daisy had.

But Daisy had never returned.

She would have, though, if the killer had been tied up when she left the house, the way he was tied up now. He couldn’t have followed Daisy then.

And he wouldn’t be able to follow Molloy now. Even if he regained consciousness, he’d still be tied to that railing.

Leaving the house was the only answer, she knew that. If the highway wasn’t too flooded, she could run straight to campus and bring help back with her. If she couldn’t use the highway, she’d have to take the back road. The thought of going back down that hill, through the dark, dreary woods, made her physically ill. But there might not be a choice. Making the decision was a relief, in a way. At least she had a plan now.

Toni would not want to be left alone.

Maybe, Molloy thought as she felt her way down the back staircase, intending to get a candle from the kitchen and check on her captive before she left the house, maybe I could carry Toni up to the attic. It’s a long way, but Toni would feel much better if she were up there in that little room with Officer Reardon and Lynne. She’d feel safer.

It was worth trying. It would take up precious time, but Molloy knew she couldn’t leave Toni lying, shivering, cold and terrified, on the kitchen floor.

The teakettle was whistling shrilly as she entered the kitchen. Toni was still quiet, huddled in her white swaddling. Molloy ran to the stove, lifted the kettle off the burner, and checked the one remaining candle. Nothing more than a fat stub, but it would have to do.

“Be right back,” she said, “and then I’ll fix your tea.” Toni would have to drink it quickly. Then Molloy would take her upstairs, to the attic, before leaving the house. “I just have to check on something.”

Holding the candle aloft, she hurried down the hall to the foyer.

She was only halfway to the stairs when she saw, in the dim, wavering glow of her little candle stub, that there was no one sitting on the floor of the foyer, arms tied to the railing behind him.

He was gone.

S
HE’S GOING TO PAY.

How dare she? Tying me to the stairs like a dog.

She caught me off guard, that’s all.

She should have done a better job with her knots.

I was only going to punish her for trespassing. But that wouldn’t be nearly enough now. I’m going to take my time. It’s not going to be quick and easy, like with the others.

It’s her own fault. She brought this on herself. She has only herself to blame.

That’s what
he
said. Dr. Leo said I only had myself to blame. But that’s not true. It wasn’t my fault. It was cruel of him to say that when it wasn’t true.

It’s true about her, though. She should have run screaming from this place when she had the chance.