In the House On Lakeside Drive (17 page)

“No clue. There're no windows, so I can't even tell by the sun,” Remy offered. His voice was still sharp, but it was beginning to temper. “The two lights we have are hanging from the ceiling. Or floor. Whatever.”

Sam's nose detected a faint clean smell. “There's water in here,” he said.

“Where?” Josh asked, his voice still small.

“To the right, in front of you, Josh.” Sam struggled to get up, not having his hands to push himself up from the cold floor or his cane to guide him. He took slow steps,
clicking
his tongue every so often to gauge the dimensions of the room. Nine steps in, and he found the doorway to the right. He turned in, and the watery smell grew stronger. “There's a room here,” Sam said, his voice muffled by the walls. He
clicked
his tongue again, picking up his bound hands to feel his way around the mostly enclosed space within their dungeon. The rough texture of plywood and drywall brushed against them, and Sam followed the walls around the space, noting that there was a long, large plastic container against the length of the room. “Guys, come here!”

Soft footsteps came closer, followed shortly by shuffled ones. “What?” Remy said, his voice now full of wonder. “It's dark in here. I can't see.”

“There's a long plastic container, here, next to this cement wall,” Sam said. “Help me find the opening. I think there's water in there.”

“Water?” Josh asked. Soon the shuffled footsteps came even closer, and Sam could hear hands tapping the plastic in front of him. “I found something!” he half whispered, trying to keep his voice down. Josh remembered the Southern man's warning about following rules, and he was determined not to mess up.

“What?” Remy asked. He too was searching the unseen container, tracing his fingers around the edges of the giant box looking for a hinge or a pull to identify a door of some kind. “What is it?”

“A…a padlock,” Josh said, his voice laced with defeat. “It's locked.”

“Son of a bitch,” Remy hissed, feeling as though he'd been kicked. He was dying for a glass of water—there was no source of water anywhere except in the reeking closet, and there was no way he was even attempting to drink any of that. “Hey!” he shouted, raising his head toward the ceiling above him. “If you're planning on killing us, just
do
it already! Quit screwing around, huh?!”

“Remy!” Sam admonished. “You want one of us to…?”

“Does it matter, Sam? Really? I mean, look where we are! No light, no food, and the only water we can get at will kill us if we drink it. There's good water not three feet from us, but we can't get at it, so it might as well be a thousand miles away!” Anger rolled off Remy in waves. He remembered several times when he had been ravenous and forbidden to eat anything in the kitchen lest he incur the wrath of his drunken, selfish uncle. The mere thought of the times he'd woken up with painful bruises because he'd stolen a cracker or a piece of bread to keep from starving to death was enough to send the young man reeling with repressed emotion.

“I
live
in the dark, Remy. Every day. I'll die in it, too. But I still have a life. I don't want to die
here
.”

“We…we're gonna die?” Josh squeaked. Sam could feel the fear radiating from the younger man.

“If we don't eat soon, or get a glass of water, we will,” Remy said matter-of-factly. “It's the truth, Sam. You asked me how long we've been here? I'm not sure. Likely over a day though.”

“A whole
day
?” Josh asked. “Isn't…isn't anyone looking for us?”

“Miss Rachel and Evan are,” Sam reassured him, taking some comfort for himself in the thought. “They wouldn't just let us…”

“No, you're right. They wouldn't. Not if they knew something had happened,” Remy agreed, his anger starting to lessen. “Considering the mess we left, I'm sure they're doing something to find us.”

“I hope so,” Josh whispered. “I wanna go home.”

The sound of footsteps grew louder above them, and they stopped at the point where they knew there was a door leading upstairs toward freedom. A few tries on it from Remy during the first few minutes of their imprisonment told them everything—not only was it incredibly solid, it was strong too. A crossbar held it in place, preventing the door from opening outward.

“They're coming,” Josh said, his voice audible only to Sam. Steeling himself, Sam straightened up, planning to tackle the challenge in front of him as bravely as he could.

Chapter 23

The last of the provisions had been gone through, and Riley had left to get more. “I want some real food, not more boxed crap,” he had declared shortly before leaving. “Any requests?”

“Take a steak, I would,” Charlie said, putting his paper plate in the garbage bag standing in the middle of the linoleum floor. The log walls around them made the sight of the newer floor a little jarring. “And some real potatoes!”

“Make that two,” Dayton replied. “And some ice cream. Just not that butter pecan crap.” He was high on weed, despite how much he despised smoking. It was the cheapest high he could get his hands on, and he needed the pick-me-up. He fished a few bills from his wallet. “That ought to cover it.”

“Anything else?”

Dayton thought a minute. “Yeah,” he said. “One of those burner phones. Cheap, you know? Need something to do business with.” He handed over a fifty. “Real cheap, understand?”

“I got it, I got it.” The door slammed, and an engine turned over and the van pulled out.

“How long you plannin' to keep our ‘guests' down there?” Charlie asked.

“Why?”

“Well, if you're plannin' on havin' fun with 'em, you'd better feed 'em. Not gonna be much fun to you if they ain't gettin' up.” The water ran in the sink, and the clink of dishes rattled in the plastic tub they planned to use for the purpose. “Don't like bugs,” Charlie had said when they'd gotten the tub at his insistence. “Not havin' no bugs around, understand?”

A thought crossed the Southerner's mind. “We got anything left?”

“Half a giant submarine, a beer, and two slices of pizza. And they ain't gettin the beer.”

“Or the pizza. I'm starving.” Bony hands grabbed the plate out of the refrigerator and shoved a slice into Dayton's mouth. It tasted like cardboard, but he didn't care.

“You keep smokin' weed, you'll eat the whole operation out. Lay off, huh?”

“What I really need is a good pill. Maybe one of those Adderalls.”

“You ain't shovin' the money up your nose, pal. Stick with the weed.” Charlie wasn't fussy about how his employer got his high, but he was concerned with how much money was in his cut at the end. Privately, Charlie knew he could snap the little shit like a twig if he chose, but detailed planning had never been his strong suit, or Riley's. For the time being, the Southerner was calling ninety percent of the shots.

“I am well aware of your concerns.” Dayton finished off the pizza, then picked up the large sandwich. “Let's go. Grab one of those plastic cups, will you?”

Charlie got the item in question, a tall pink number with ridged sides. The pair headed for the basement door, Dayton struggling with the crossbar holding the door in place. The new staircase squeaked as they came down, and a quick glance around much of the small concrete space told them everything. “Come out, come out,” he catcalled, chuckling a little at his own joke. “Else I'll let the rats eat instead of you.”

“Rats?” a thin voice squeaked.

“Shut up!” another admonished. “Whoa…”

“Sam, there's the wall. Hang on to that,” a third instructed. “Josh! Watch out!”

“Sorry…”

The pair turned and headed into the little partitioned room, the one with the giant plastic trough of water inside. It was padlocked shut, and Dayton had the only key. “Well,
there
you are,” he said, rounding on the three unwilling guests. “Comfortable?”

“What the hell do you want?” the thin older kid snapped, standing in front of his friends. The room had no light in it, and what flooded in from the small hanging bulbs in the main area only showed a set of deep blue eyes, a long face, and long dirty blond hair pulled into a nearly destroyed ponytail.

“Remy!” the taller kid hissed, leaning heavily against plywood and drywall. His clouded eyes shone nearly white, and it creeped Dayton out to look at them. Next to him, the smallest of the three stood absolutely silent, save for a few frightened whimpers.

“I'd think twice about making demands, boy,” Dayton told the eldest guest. “Or I might take this back upstairs,” He held up the half submarine, the edges visible in the dim light.

Three stomachs growled pitiably, but the one called Remy didn't budge an inch. Charlie stood guard at the room's entrance, stray beams of light glinting off the large knife he held in his hand, as Dayton casually walked his way toward the plastic container full of water. “Expect you've figured out it's locked,” he said. “Means you'll have to play nice.”

“What…what do you mean?” White Eyes said.

“I mean, you can come over and take a drink when I say so. Now, you want one or not?”

The little one edged closer. “Y-yes, please.”

“See? Play nice.” Dayton filled the cup and handed it to the kid, a little spilling out onto the floor. “Don't waste it, though,” he mocked. “Means less for your friends come their turn.”

The cup was quickly drained, and small hands clutched it like a lifeline. “Can…can I have some more?” the kid asked, his voice halting.

“Don't get greedy. Give it up.”

“Please?” Two bright eyes shone at him like pebbles off a beach.

“No. Next one.” Dayton snatched the cup from his hands, nearly knocking him backwards onto the hard floor.

White Eyes pushed himself away from the wall. He reached his bound hands forward, both in an attempt to grasp the refilled cup and to gain his bearings. A little
clicking
sound emanated from somewhere, and finally long fingers reached the pink plastic. “Thank you,” Sam—or whatever the hell the blind kid's name was-- said between gulps.

Dayton took the glass as soon as it was empty and filled it again. “Up to you, kid,” he said nonchalantly to the one called Remy. “You want water or not?”

A cloud of emotions swirled across the long face, and the blue eyes sparkled in the stray light beams. “Yes,” he said finally, reaching for the offered cup. He drained it nearly as quickly as the younger kid. He handed it back silently, almost throwing it at Dayton.

“I said, play
nice
,” the Southerner snapped, cuffing the kid upside the head. Dayton watched a moment as the kid struggled to fight back his anger. Turning to White Eyes, he said, “Hold out your hands.” The blind kid did so, and Dayton shoved the remains of the sandwich into them. “Figure it out,” he said as he snapped the padlock shut again and left the room, taking Charlie in tow. Before he hit the stairs, the sound of shuffling feet graced his ears.

“Why are you doing this?”

Dayton stopped and spun on a dime. “Why?” he asked, staring the smallest of his three “guests” straight in the eye.

The kid nodded.

“Because someone owes me, and I aim to collect.” With that, the two men went back up the stairs, Charlie slamming the crossbar firmly home once they were inside the main house.

“Those kids are fuckin'
creepy,
” the giant man said, shaking himself in almost a shiver. “Especially that white-eyed kid. Like looking at a talkin' ghost.”

“What worries me is once the fear wears off, they might try something,” Dayton mused. “Hopefully Riley hurries back with the phone, so we can get down to business.”

Chapter 24

The selection at the grocery store outside the little town of Otis wasn't vast. There was a meat counter, though, and Riley was able to get good steaks for a price. The potatoes were small, and not mealy enough for his liking. He sighed. He grabbed a few chocolate bars as well as the ice cream Dayton wanted—strawberry, not the chocolate he knew the Southerner preferred.
Let him bitch,
Riley thought.
I'm the one driving.

Looking in his basket, Riley realized he'd need some steak sauce—condiments hadn't been on the list of initial provisions once the building project had begun, and it wasn't a real steak without steak sauce. He strolled down the aisle, expecting one or two choices at least. He toyed with the idea of getting Cajun seasoning, a personal favorite of his and Charlie's, but opted to stick with traditional.

“The Cajun's better,” a voice said, and Riley looked up into the face of a skinny, weathered, scraggly looking bespectacled man who was trying desperately to look a bit more classy than his appearance was giving off. “Always bet on the Cajun spice, every time.”