Fear the Dark (38 page)

The collar’s O-ring was attached to a heavy steel-mesh wire encased in clear plastic – the kind of cable used in dog leads to prevent the animal from running away. The cable ran up through a hole in the ceiling, which was, along with the floors and walls, made of galvanized steel; it was attached to a pulley, and it allowed her to roam freely about her homemade six-by-eight cell, with its chemical toilet and mattress.

But the wire prevented her from getting anywhere near the cell’s steel door and iron bars, which separated her cell from a room that offered more creature comforts: a twin bed, which at the moment was neatly made and decorated with throw pillows; a nightstand and lamp; a small
flat-screen TV and a Blu-Ray player; a high-backed chair, toilet and a small refrigerator stocked with bottles of water and cans of soda. The shelves above the bed held boxes of meal-replacement bars, toilet paper and an assortment of paperback books, the majority of which, as far as she could tell, were romance novels.

The adjoining room also held a ladder that led to what Darby guessed had to be some sort of trapdoor. She couldn’t see it from her cell, but she always heard it when it was opened, and it was being opened right now.

Darby sat up on her mattress and threw back the wool blanket and comforter. At the moment her cell was bathed in a complete and total darkness. Her facial swelling had disappeared; she was able to see out of both eyes; and the staples along her incision itched furiously. She had been given Tylenol with each meal, and she had been provided with ill-fitting but warm clothes: thermal underwear, fleece-lined sweatpants and a woollen sweater. No shoes, though, just two pairs of woollen socks. Williams was smart enough to know that a shoe could be turned into a weapon.

At least that was what Darby assumed; she hadn’t seen Williams since the day he had washed her. Darby figured he was tied up with Coop and the other federal agents who were avidly questioning him about what had happened at Sally Kelly’s house. What had Williams told them? That Savran had killed everyone inside the house and then taken her as his hostage? Was Savran alive or dead?

And how many women had been brought here to this
private torture chamber, which was, she suspected, buried underground? She had a solid idea about the purpose this place served. There was no question in her mind about what Williams was going to do to her after the heat died down. Williams, she figured, could afford to wait them out.

Were the FBI still in Red Hill? Were they looking for her or did they assume Savran had killed her?

Her stomach dropped and her muscles tensed when she heard the trap door shut, followed by a padlock clicking into place. Then footsteps continued down the rungs, and a moment later she heard the click of a light switch, and the pair of lamps in the adjoining room came to life.

74

Once her eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness, Darby saw the woman Williams called Sarah slipping out of her boots. They were wet with snow. Wherever Darby was, she wasn’t inside Williams’s house. Was she on his property or had he tucked her away somewhere else?

Darby didn’t know, but one thing was clear: Williams had designed this place with care and detail to prevent anyone from escaping.

Sarah wore a pink fleece top with matching sweatpants. ‘It’s time for your feeding,’ she said, slipping her stockinged feet into a pair of slippers.

That was what she called Darby’s meals: feedings. Like she was some sort of caged pet.
That’s exactly what I am
.

Sarah smiled brightly. ‘Did I tell you Ray belongs to Netflix?’

Darby said nothing, looking at the neatly made bed outside her cell. The woman slept here almost every night, and she spent the majority of the day down here too, reading her Victorian romance novels and watching TV series and movies on DVD. She left for a couple of hours at a time and always came back with supplies – at least Darby assumed it was a couple of hours. She had no idea. There was no clock down here; no windows to tell here whether it was day or night; no calendar to mark off the
passage of days. She was buried underground, trapped inside the waiting room to hell.

‘Ray allowed me to get the first season of
The Tudors
. If you’re nice to me –’

‘How many women?’ Darby asked.

‘We’re not doing this again. I told you, no questions.’

‘I know who you are. Why do you keep denying it?’

‘Please, I want to have a nice day today. Please.’

‘Your name is Nicky Hubbard.’

‘Nicky Hubbard is dead. Ray killed her.’

She repeated the same words every time Darby brought up the subject.

‘No, he didn’t. You’re Nicky Hubbard,’ Darby said. The woman could deny it all she wanted, but there was no doubt in Darby’s mind. ‘That’s why he’s hiding you down here with me. Red Hill’s swarming with the FBI, and other cops –’

‘Wrong.’

‘Ray can’t afford to have someone stop by the house during the day and see you,’ Darby said. She felt sure the news about Hubbard’s fingerprint had been released. ‘Someone would recognize you if they looked carefully enough.’

‘Wrong.’

‘You have Nicky Hubbard’s eyes. Her nose and lips.’

The woman kept shaking her head. ‘I’m getting real tired of you –’

‘You have her ears too,’ Darby said. ‘You’re Nicky Hubbard.’

‘Enough!’

For the past few days, Darby had been playing around with numbers. Ray Williams had abducted Nicky Hubbard thirty-one years ago; Darby didn’t know the how and why, because the woman kept refusing to answer Darby’s repeated questions on the subject. And Darby knew Williams had abducted another woman not that long ago, the previous occupant of this cell, a woman named Sherrilyn O’Neil. If Ray had been abducting a woman every year, that meant he was responsible for disappearances of thirty other women.

And that was just a conservative estimate. It was more than likely he had been taking two women a year, which brought his lifetime record up to sixty. The frightening thing was that sixty was in all probability still too low a number. How many had he abducted and killed? Darby felt sure Nicky Hubbard knew. But did the woman know where Williams had buried the remains?

The woman who called herself Sarah had collected herself. ‘If you behave, I’ll turn on the TV so we can watch
The Tudors
. We can have a nice, enjoyable day together.’

As the woman got down on one knee and reached inside the big plastic bucket she’d brought down with her, Darby launched into the same script she’d been using day after day, hoping that it would release the memories buried somewhere inside this meek middle-aged woman who had been brainwashed into believing Ray Williams loved her.

‘You were seven years old when your mother brought
you to the Carter & Sullivan department store,’ Darby said. ‘You were looking at Cabbage Patch dolls when Ray Williams kidnapped you. He was a teenager. He –’

‘I’m not listening to you any more.’ The woman began to transfer the contents of the bucket to a small cardboard box: clean clothes, a bottle of water and a meal-replacement bar.

‘Your mother’s name is Joan,’ Darby said. ‘She misses you and loves you, Nicky. She wants you to come home.’

The woman who called herself Sarah Williams stood abruptly. She reached inside her pocket and came back with a small handheld remote with a thick rubber antenna.

‘Your mother is alive,’ Darby said, struggling to keep her gaze locked on the woman. ‘I can take you to her.’

‘Say my name – my
real
name. You say it right now or you’ll force me to press the button.’

Darby had been repeating the script for God only knew how many days, but this was the first time she had seen the woman who believed her name was Sarah with the remote.

‘Let me help you,’ Darby said. ‘I want to help you.’

‘Say it. Say my name or I’ll do it.’

Darby had an idea of what was coming. Her muscles tensed, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

‘
Say it!
’

‘Nicky Hubbard. Your name is Nicky Hubbard.’

The woman pressed the remote’s side button.

Darby had been Tasered before, but this was a thousand
times worse. Hundreds of electrified razors tore through her neck and limbs and exploded through the meat of her brain. She clutched the steel collar frantically, uselessly, trying to tear it off. Her legs gave out and then she fell against the floor, writhing. Screaming.

75

When it was over, Darby lay on the floor, quivering and gasping. As her vision finally returned, she saw that Hubbard had moved the cardboard box inside her cell.

Nicky Hubbard – and that’s who she was, Nicky Hubbard, not Sarah – Nicky Hubbard pressed her face against the bars. She looked sad. Apologetic.

‘That was the number seven setting.’

‘Nicky,’ Darby croaked.

‘I don’t want to hurt you again. Please, I’m begging you, stop calling me that. You’re wrong about Hubbard. She’s dead.’

‘It’s not … your fault. Battered women, abused children and cult members – they all undergo a very traumatic bonding process. Victims become loyal, even protective of the perpetrators.’

‘I am
not
a victim. I told you that before.’

‘Victims go on to develop their abuser’s beliefs, values and –’

‘Stop or I’ll press the button again.’

Darby was breathing hard, but she managed to keep her voice calm and empathetic. ‘You’re scared,’ she said, forcing herself on to her side. ‘I don’t blame you. I would be scared too.’

‘I’m not scared. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Darby remained quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Hubbard would retreat to her bed, pick up her noise-cancelling headphones and watch TV. The first few times she had confronted Hubbard, the woman was too terrified to speak. Then Hubbard tried to ignore her. When Darby refused to stop talking, to stop asking questions, Hubbard became angry. She shouted at Darby to shut up.

But Hubbard was still standing at the bars, looking down at her, like she was waiting for an explanation.

Good
, Darby thought.
Definite progress
. ‘If I don’t know what I’m talking about, explain to me why he tried to kill you inside that bedroom.’

‘Why do you care?’

‘Why are you afraid to tell me?’

Hubbard held her head high. ‘I am
not
afraid,’ she said. ‘And Ray apologized for what he did. It was an accident. His mother had always wanted a girl.’

Darby remained quiet. This was new information.

‘Mother Sarah didn’t like boys. She’d always wanted a girl, and when Ray brought me to her car, she was so excited. She was very kind to me. Very, very nice. She named me after herself, you know.’

‘And Ray? Was he nice and kind to you?’

‘Of course he is.’

‘Then why did he try to kill you?’

‘I don’t want to talk about this any more. You’re upsetting me, and I’m very tired.’

‘We found your fingerprint in the bedroom.’

‘I know. Ray told me. He tells me
everything
.’ She smiled in sour triumph.

‘The FBI will find you,’ Darby said.

Hubbard said nothing. She didn’t have to; her fearful expression confirmed Darby’s suspicion.

‘Everyone in the world has been looking for you,’ Darby said. ‘Your mother –’

‘My mother is dead.’

‘She’s alive. If you don’t believe me, go on the internet and look.’

‘Ray doesn’t let me use it.’

Of course he doesn’t
, Darby thought. ‘Tell me what happened and I promise I’ll be good,’ she said. ‘Then we can watch
The Tudors
together, just like you wanted. We’ll have a nice day together.’

‘You promise?’

Darby nodded.

Hubbard composed herself. When she spoke, the words came out in a rush, as though they were poisoned and she had to get them out of her throat or she’d die. ‘Ray told me he was jealous of all the attention his mother was giving me, so one night he brought me to that house so we could play hide-and-seek, okay? And then he got … got mad and shoved me and I must’ve split my head on the floor or something. And he said I was bleeding everywhere and when I wouldn’t stop crying he started to … He just got really, really mad, and he started … He had to make me be quiet.’

‘Did he strangle you? Hit you? What?’

‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is he
stopped
. He stopped because he loves me, and I love him.’

‘If he loves you so much, why does he bring women here and strangle them?’

‘I answered your question.’ Hubbard’s voice trembled, and her eyes threatened tears. ‘Now, you promised to be good. No more talking.’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘I just did!’

‘You told me Ray’s version of what happened. I want to hear
your
version. I want to hear
you
tell me what happened.’

‘I don’t remember. I was too young to remember.’

Darby wondered if that was true. Had Hubbard managed to bury that traumatic event in order to function? To survive living with a sadist?

‘I study people like Ray for a living,’ Darby said. ‘He’s a psychopath – a very smart one.’

‘No. More. Talking.’ Her voice trembled and her eyes threatened tears. ‘You promised.’

‘The FBI are looking for you. They’re going to find you – and him.’

Hubbard brought the remote up to Darby’s face. Her hand shook in anger – or was it fear?

Darby knew she had to keep pressing her. ‘Ray is going to kill you.’

‘I’m turning the dial up to eight.’

‘He has to kill you because everyone in the world will be looking for you. You’re going to die, and he’s going to escape. He’s going to –’

‘You think you’re so special because you’re pretty and have a beautiful body. But whores like you are a dime a dozen. That’s why he always comes back to me. He loves me.
Only
me. I share his bed because I’m the only one who knows how to satisfy him.’

‘I know he doesn’t love you,’ Darby said. ‘If he did, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

Darby saw that her words had hit home. She braced herself for another shock, but Hubbard, red-faced with anger and her eyes bright with tears, had turned to the ladder.