Panic (10 page)

Her father, who was the newly appointed youth pastor, stepped up to the pulpit and took the mike from the lead pastor, who handed it to him with a nod. “I'd like to make a special request this morning,” Mr. Ford explained. “Please join hands.” Everyone looked around in confusion. This was not part of Sunday service.

He waited until hands linked. “As we leave this place of worship,” he began, “let us all be thankful for the gifts of God. And let us also be mindful of a gaping hole in our midst. All of you, I'm sure, have heard about the disappearance of a young woman from our community. Let us bow our heads and pray for her now, and I ask that you continue to pray for her from your homes.” He took a deep breath. “Dear Lord, we ask that You keep Diamond Landers in Your arms of protection and bring her home quickly and safely to her family. Amen.”

Mercedes looked up in surprise as the whole church erupted with a loud and hearty “Amen.”
Maybe this prayer stuff is gonna work
.

“Hook wounded me. I can neither fly nor swim.”

—from
Peter Pan

Pain, searing pain, woke Diamond up the next morning. She was covered by a thin sheet that only came up to her waist. She felt like she would vomit. Still tied to the bed, but by only one arm this time, she groaned as she pulled the sheet the rest of the way up to hide her nakedness. Every muscle ached, bringing back the horrible details of the night before. She couldn't stop crying. She wanted her mother, her father, her sister, the
warmth and safety of home. It hurt. It hurt so much.

And she felt so ashamed.

And furious! Thane, that evil, lying monster, was holding her prisoner. She was—oh God! He'd
kidnapped
her! She had no idea where she was or how to get away. And it was her own stupid fault. Stupid stupid stupid fault. She thrashed and screamed and clawed at the rope, but it did not budge—the knot would not give. She lay there finally, quiet, trembling, overwhelmed with terror, trying to keep her mind from imagining what he would do next.

The door opened suddenly, and Thane entered carrying a tray. He smiled broadly. “Good morning, my princess! I brought you breakfast.” He carefully closed and locked the door behind him.

Diamond pulled her knees to her chest, pain surging through her. “Will you let me go now? I won't tell anyone, I swear. Please just let me go,” she pleaded, covering her face with her free arm.

“Oh, I wouldn't hear of it, my dear. You are a star! Your movie debut was amazing!”

Diamond thought she was going to gag. “Please, please let me go home. I'll never tell. Never!”

Instead of answering her, Thane walked over to the bed and untied her arm. Diamond flinched as he began to gently rub where the ropes had gouged angry red marks into her wrist. “Go on and take a shower; the bathroom is right over there. You'll feel a lot better. I've got fresh clothes laid out for you, and then you can eat.”

Diamond was too scared not to do what he asked. She let him help her sit up, let him carefully wrap the sheet
around her, then walked with him to the small bathroom. Each step sent pain flashing through her abdomen. Her mind was racing—should she try to fight him now that her hands were free? Make a run for it? To where—the locked door? He'd catch her, and what then? What if he got mad? What if he tried to kill her?

She couldn't risk it—not yet—she had no chance right now. Despondent, she let herself be led into the bathroom. Thane turned on the shower, then closed the door and left her alone. Diamond looked around wildly, but the bathroom, of course, had no window. There was no lock on the door either. Who didn't have a lock on a bathroom door? Heart sinking, she stood in the shower for what seemed like an hour, trying in vain to wash the stench of last night's nightmare from her body.

When the water turned cold, she toweled off, but she still felt filthy. Wincing, she put on the clothes Thane had left for her—underwear, jeans, and T-shirt that, weirdly, fit perfectly, and peeked into the bedroom. He was gone.

She stepped back into the room, noticing that he had changed the sheets and fluffed the pillows. A breakfast of a banana, orange juice in a Styrofoam cup, and a Krispy Kreme doughnut sat on a tray decorated with one red rose lying on a napkin. Diamond stared at the rose, then flung it away against the far wall. What a pig! What a . . . Wait! Utensils! Maybe there was a fork—she could use a fork as a weapon! She pulled aside the napkin. There were no utensils.

Diamond tried the door. Locked. She pounded on it, kicked it with all her might, beat it until her hands were
sore. She screamed, “Let me out of here! You can't do this! Let me go! Please! I want to go home!”

But all was silent.

Exhausted, she sat down and paid close attention to where she was. The room was small, the walls steeply slanted. It made her feel a little dizzy to look at them. A converted attic, she figured. The only window, a small octagon, was tucked at least twenty feet above her head, in the triangle where the two walls met. A chance to escape? Probably not. How would she ever get up there? Thin light, made gray by the rainy weather, filtered through it.

She paced the room, checking for anything she could use to help her. She tried to remove a picture from the wall, but found it was nailed there. There were no lamps. No decorations. No television. There was nothing she could use as a weapon. Not one thing. She put her ear to the door, but she all she could hear was thick silence. It was as if she were in a tomb.

The cameras had been removed, she noticed, but the massive, heavy-duty tripods stood poised and ready, permanently attached to the floor. She could not budge either one. The dresser drawers were nailed shut. The single chair was bolted to the floor. She swung open the closet door. It was empty.

The deeply angled walls felt as if they were closing in on her. She spun around, beating on the walls, screaming up at the distant window. She screamed and yelled and begged until her throat was raw and raspy.

Finally, bleakly, she sipped a bit of the orange juice.
She figured she needed to keep herself strong if she ever had any chance of escape.

She sat on the chair, curling her knees up to her chin. There was no way she going to sit on that bed. The only sound Diamond could hear was the rain and wind against the tiny window.

As she picked at the striped upholstery of the chair, she couldn't stop thinking of her parents. Her sister. Were they looking for her? Did they think she'd run away? They'd come looking for her, right? With a pang, she realized no one had any inkling of where to start a search. Like a bubble, Diamond had simply vanished.

She started to cry, softly, emptily, dreading the coming night.

“She is an abandoned little creature.”

—from
Peter Pan

Sunday dinner at Mercedes' house was supertraditional. “I think I have the only mother in the universe who still cooks Sunday dinner,” she'd once told Diamond. “Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes. Green beans. Chocolate cake. On real plates—not paper ones.”

“You can get the same thing at KFC,” Diamond had replied, licking the icing off a thick slice of cake that Mercedes had brought for lunch. “But not like this. Yum. Your mom rocks!”

“My mom has issues,” Mercedes had responded, laughing.

“Don't they all?”

“She keeps the spices in alphabetical order. Canned goods are stacked by size of can, then by ingredients. Don't even ask about the bathroom!”

Diamond had laughed. “I've seen your bathroom. Red towels on the left. Blue washcloths on the right. Does she count sheets of toilet paper?”

“Probably! Me and my dad just go with the flow.”

“I wonder if it's hereditary,” Diamond had said pensively.

“I guess a little OCD comes in handy when you're trying to keep a busy house in order. But when I get my own place, I'm gonna keep everything in the middle of the floor and just dig for stuff when I need it!”

“That's gonna drive your mom crazy,” Diamond had said, laughing again.

“I know. I love it!”

Mercedes smiled as she finished up the dishes with her mother, thinking about the last time Diamond came over.

“What do you think about the candlelight vigil the school has planned?” her mom asked. “It's a little soon, don't you think?”

Mercedes frowned. “I don't know. I guess people feel like they gotta do
something
,” she replied. “I mean, there's not much else we can actually
do.
I just feel like I'm gonna throw up, you know?” She slammed a stack of spoons noisily into the drawer.

Her mother dried her hands quickly and pulled
Mercedes toward her. “They will find her, baby girl. They just have to.”

Mercedes melted into her mom's damp, soap-smelling arms. “Will you and Daddy come to the vigil?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Mercedes said softly. After a moment she pulled away and said, “I think I'll run over to Diamond's house for a minute.”

“You don't want to get in the way, honey.”

“I won't, but maybe there's something I can do to help.”

“Well, I made an extra cake to bring over tomorrow, but why don't you take it now? Give me a minute to frost it,” her mother said. “And I get it—wanting to do something. I don't know what else to do but pray and cook.”

Mercedes ended up loading her car with a large box that held the cake, plus a full meal in a half dozen little plastic containers, which her mother kept, of course, neatly stacked, sized, and color coded. And she realized that those little containers were order. Somewhere, there was order. She started the car feeling more hopeful than she had all day.

But when she got to Diamond's house, she was stunned by all the activity. Three police cars were parked in the driveway. Several police officers huddled on the front lawn.

A television news van with a huge satellite extending from the top of it was positioned two doors down.

Yellow crime-scene tape encircled the yard.
Why the drama tape?
Mercedes thought.
It's not like a crime happened
here.
Maybe it was just to keep the crowd away—a good-size group of people, maybe neighbors, maybe just nosy folks who'd heard the story on the news, hovered just outside the tape. Many had their cameras and cell phones out.

What do they think they'll get a picture of?
Mercedes thought, getting angry.
Diamond's cat? Her front door?

More police patrolled the taped area, warning onlookers to keep back.

She opened her door, then hesitated, not sure what to do or say. Grabbing the box of food items, she slammed her car door and then stomped up to the first police officer she saw. She didn't wait for him to try to keep her out.

“My name is Mercedes Ford. I am Diamond's best friend. I am delivering this box for my mother, and I need to get into that house right now.”

The officer was unimpressed. “Driver's license, ma'am.”

Mercedes wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or annoyed to be called ma'am, but she set the box down, pulled her wallet from her purse, and handed over her license.

He examined it as if she might have been a criminal on the loose. Even though it was broad daylight, he took out his flashlight and peered at the license more closely.

Just as she was about to lose her patience, Mercedes heard a small voice yell out her name. “Mercedes! Mama says come in! Hurry!”

The officer turned to see Shasta peeking out the front door. Cameras clicked at the movement and sound. Shasta disappeared in a hurry.

The policeman returned Mercedes' license and lifted the yellow tape so that she could enter the yard. She was aware of being filmed and photographed as she made a quick dash to the house. Instead of entering through the front door, she went in the side entrance, the kitchen door she always used when she visited.

Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She went to place the food on the counter, but found there was barely enough room for her box. Dozens of store-bought cakes and pies, casserole dishes, soda bottles, and boxes of KFC chicken were already piled high, so she set her box on the kitchen table.

Mrs. Landers, her hair uncombed, her face blotchy, her eyes red, grabbed Mercedes and hugged her close. She began to weep. Mercedes found herself crying as well.

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Landers said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping her eyes. “It's so good to see you. You give me hope.”

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. L.” Mercedes' voice wavered. “I . . . I feel like I'm to blame here. We shoulda stayed together.”

“Oh, Mercedes. Please don't give yourself that burden.” Diamond's mom hugged her even tighter. “A horrible, horrible person did this. Not you.”

“Yeah, but I don't know how else to feel.”

Mrs. Landers stepped back and took Mercedes' hands in hers. “We need your strength—maybe your brainpower.”

“Huh?”

“You're a teenager. You and Diamond think a lot alike. Where would you go? What would you do if you
were caught in something . . . terrible? We've got profilers here who might like to talk to you.”

“I'll do anything! Just tell me . . . ” She paused and pointed to the box. “My mom, uh, sent food.”

Mrs. Landers' shoulders sank. “Please thank her. I appreciate all of this, I really do, but this stuff is what you send for a funeral! And she's not dead! My Diamond is not dead!” She leaned against a counter and started sobbing anew.

Shasta ran into the room, plucked a Kleenex from the box, and handed it to her mom. “Daddy needs you upstairs in Diamond's room,” she told her. “The police want to check Diamond's computer.”