Paws and Effect (20 page)

I bit down on my lip so hard I drew blood. Hercules could get out of Hope's car. He didn't like the rain but he knew the property.
He'll be safe,
I said silently.
And we will get out of here.

John grabbed Hope's arm, pulling her away from me. She staggered and he took advantage of her momentum, pushing her down into the open hole. On instinct she grabbed at the ground, her hands clawing the mud, looking for something to hold on to. All she got were handfuls of wet leaves and pine needles. She fell back into the darkness.

“Now you,” John said, pointing the gun at me. I had a fleeting thought that being shot would be better than climbing down into that dark, tight hole. But Hope was already down there and I couldn't leave her there alone.

I walked to the edge and sat down, dangling my legs in the hole. I couldn't see Hope and I had no idea how far she had fallen, how far I would fall. Was she already dead? Had the fall broken her neck? Would the same happen to me? I flashed to my father as Henry the Fifth in Shakespeare's play of the same name as Henry spoke to his army. I could hear my father's voice in my head and I whispered the words along with it: “Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage.” And then I
jumped.

I
landed on some kind of wooden platform twelve, maybe fifteen, feet down. The fall knocked the wind out of me and I lay there, trying to get my breath. Above us John pulled the wooden cover over the hole. I stifled a scream. It came out like a whimper.

I'd never been in a place so dark. I put a hand out and felt packed earth. It felt as though the ground itself was pushing back. Tears rolled down my face—or maybe it was rain dripping from my hair. I felt around slowly, carefully, for Hope,
Please don't let her be dead
running on repeat in my head. My hand touched something that felt like fur. I yanked it back and did let out a small scream. I heard a moan behind me. “Hope?” I said stretching out my trembling arm.

My hand connected with her shoulder. “Kathleen?” she managed to gasp out.

“Yes,” I said. I found her other shoulder and helped pull her into a sitting position. She leaned against me.
“We're going to get out of here,” I said. “I just need a minute to think.”

I looked up over my head. The air was stale but there were small spaces between the planks that made up the well cover. We were getting some air. We could breathe as long as the smell from whatever was decomposing down here didn't overcome us.

“How far down?” Hope asked.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Fifteen feet, maybe less. This isn't a well. It's a spring or something. I'm guessing it's been partly filled with gravel. We can get out. It's not that deep.”

She didn't answer me. I shook her gently. She groaned.

What had I learned about head injuries in first aid? “You have to stay awake,” I said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “I'm going to get us out of here but your job is to stay awake.”

“Okay,” she said after a moment. Her voice was weak but she was with me for now.

I touched the wall of the well.
Please God, let it be dirt and not brick
, I thought.

Dirt.

Yes.

The dirt was packed hard and dense with twisted tree roots, but maybe, just maybe I could scrape out enough of a handhold to make it to the top. I felt for a spot about waist-height and tried to make a hole using just my hands. The earth felt like a mix of rocks and clay compacted together, with the tree roots surrounding it all like a net or a web.

“We're trapped,” Hope whispered.

I choked off a sob and dropped back down beside her. I swiped away the tears that were running down my face with one dirty hand. “No!” I said. “We are not dying down here. We're getting out and getting Hercules and I'm going to punch John Keller right in the nose and I'm going to like it. And then I'm going to have a bath and a whole pan of brownies.”

Hope made a strangled sound and for a moment I thought she was choking. Then I realized she was laughing. “You are . . . Pollyanna,” she said.

I sniffed and swiped at my eyes again. “Pippi Longstocking,” I said. “That's who I wanted to be when I was a kid.”

“Who . . .” Hope's voice trailed off.

“She's the main character in a series of children's books. You'll like them. When we get out of here I'll check them all out for you.”

She didn't answer. I nudged her shoulder again. “You have to stay awake, Hope,” I said.

“I am,” she whispered after a moment.

“I need something to dig with.” I felt around the wooden platform, trying to stay away from the spot where I'd touched whatever was rotting down here.

There was water underneath us. Just as air was getting down to us through the spaces in the boards above us that water would come up through the spaces in the dirt and gravel below us. I had to get us out now. I had to find something to dig with. It occurred to me that if I took my sneaker off could I use the sole as a shovel. I wasn't sure it would work.

I untied my shoe and pulled it off. It was so wet a small stream of water poured out. “Okay, cross your fingers,” I said to Hope. I pressed the sneaker's upper against the sole and dug at the well wall with it. The wet shoe slipped out of my hand and fell onto the wooden platform. I swore and bent down to retrieve it.

“You said a bad word,” Hope rasped.

“I'm sorry,” I said. My fingers brushed the dead whatever it was. I recoiled, felt around a little more and caught the end of a shoelace.

Hope laughed, the same half-strangled sound as before. “You're so . . . nice. Not like me.”

I turned the shoe around and attacked the wall with the heel end. “You're a nice person,” I said.

“No,” she mumbled.

The heel of the shoe didn't work any better than the toe had. I beat on the wall in frustration. I was standing in water now, I realized. It was rising rapidly.

“What's wrong?” Hope asked, struggling to get to her feet. Her ankle wouldn't hold her and she collapsed onto the ground with a groan.

I made a grunt of frustration. “I was trying to use my shoe to dig with but it won't work. The sole is too rubbery.”

“You need . . . insoles,” she said.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you wearing yours?”

“Yes.” Her voice got a little stronger. “Yes.”

I squatted down, felt for Hope's leg and found her left foot. “I'm just going to take this shoe off,” I said. “I don't want to take the other one off because your ankle is swelling and I'm afraid we won't get it back on.”

I stripped the insole out of Hope's running shoe, picturing it in my mind because I couldn't see it. The curve of metal was held between two pieces of leather. This might just work. I put Hope's shoe in her hands. “Cross your fingers,” I said.

She caught my fingers and gave them a squeeze. Her grip was weak. “Thank you,” she said.

I stood up and attacked the wall with the heel end of the insert. Dirt fell onto my arm. “It's working!”

“Yay . . .” Hope's voice petered out.

I felt behind me with one hand. I touched the top of her head. “No, no, no. You have to stay awake. I can't do this by myself.”

“It's . . . wet.”

“I know,” I said. “But I'm going to get us out. Just don't go to sleep on me.”

I dug awkwardly with my makeshift trowel. It was slow going and it still felt like the ground was pushing back, trying to fold around us. I started to breathe hard. Were we running out of air? “Talk to me, please?” I asked, my voice as shaky as I suddenly felt.

“You afraid of . . . the dark?” Hope said.

I started to dig again.

“Closed spaces,” I said, grunting with the effort it took to dig. I moved my foot, guessing there must be two inches of water at my feet now. Rain slid down my face. At least that's what I told myself it was.

I dug what I hoped was a good enough handhold and then reached farther up the wall and began digging again. And I kept talking to Hope, telling her stories, asking questions, trying not to let panic overwhelm me.

Finally I had four steps etched into the wall, the last at the limit of my reach. I crouched down next to Hope. She was sitting in several inches of water. I felt for her arm and put my hands on her shoulders. “We're going to get out of here,” I said. “I need you to stand up. I'm going to climb up and push the cover out of the way. Then I'm going to help you up. Right now I need you to stand up so I can show you where to put your hands and feet.”

I helped her to her feet and had her feel the wall for the small indentations I made. They suddenly seemed very small.

“When you run a marathon what do you tell yourself when you're facing those last few miles?” I asked.

“That . . . I'm . . . crazy.”

I smiled even though she couldn't see it in the darkness. “Okay, three crazy miles to go,” I said. “See you at the finish line.” I felt for my two handholds and put one foot in the bottom indentation I'd made. It slipped out but I kicked my foot in hard and the second time it held. The wall of the cistern was wet and slippery. I hugged it with my body, lifted my right arm and pulled myself up a little higher. Finally after what seemed like an eternity I was right below the wooden cover.

I pushed up with one hand. The cover moved maybe a couple of inches and cold dirty water poured onto my face. I spit and shook my head and pushed again. The wooden square moved a little more this time. I took a deep breath and pushed one more time, groaning with the exertion, and this time the cover
lifted and slipped to the side. There was just enough space for me to fit my hand, but that was enough. I pushed, the wood sliding over an inch at a time, but it moved. And finally there was enough space for me to get my arm up over the top. I felt around for the iron ring, grabbed it tightly and flung my other arm out of the hole, grabbing at the ground. For a moment I was suspended by one arm, my body weight pulling at my shoulder. Then I caught a tree root and held on for dear life. I kicked my legs out from the wall of the cistern and used the momentum I'd gained to push back against it when we reconnected, pulling with every last bit of my strength. And somehow I got the top half of my body up onto the wooden cover. I kicked my legs again, rolled hard to the right and I was out.

I lay there for a moment like an overturned bug, rain falling on my face. Then I rolled to my side, got on all fours and pulled the cover all the way back from the opening of the hole. I crouched at the edge but I couldn't see anything. Or anyone.

“Hope,” I called.

She didn't answer.

I leaned closer, bracing myself with my hands on either side. “Hope,” I yelled again.

What if she'd collapsed? What if she was lying facedown in that water right now? Just looking onto that yawning opening made me shake, but if I had to go back down into it again then that's what I was going to do.

And then I heard her. “Kathleen.”

I pulled the scarf I was wearing under my jacket
off my neck. I tied a slipknot at one end and tightened the loop. I looked around for somewhere to brace my feet. The trunk of a nearby tree was going to have to do. “I'm dropping my scarf down to you,” I said. “Put one wrist through the loop and pull it tight. I'm going to pull and help you up.”

I hung as much of the top half of my body down in the hole as I dared, planted my feet, toes down in the mud, against the tree and let the scarf down, swinging it a little so Hope could find it. Given the length of the scarf, Hope's height and my long arms, this should work.
Please let the math be right,
I prayed. Finally I felt her grab the scarf.

“Keep your weight on your left foot as much as you can,” I called. “Ready?”

After a moment I heard her voice. It may have been weak but I could hear the determination. She began to climb. I pulled and I prayed and somehow by some miracle we did it. One of Hope's hands was close enough to grab, and then the other, and we screamed with the effort but together we got her over the top. She was on her stomach in the mud and I was on my side and the rain pelted us like tiny stinging fists, but we were out.

It wasn't until I sat up that I realized Hope had passed out. I felt for a pulse and leaned my face close to hers. Her heart was beating and she was breathing. She was just unconscious. Somehow I had to get her down to Wisteria Hill.

I could make some kind of sled and drag her, I decided. I looked around for a couple of long, sturdy
branches, thinking I could tie my raincoat to them and drag her. Off to my left for a moment I thought I saw a wink of light. I shook my head. It was just a trick of my overloaded brain. Then I saw it again. A bobbing light. I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. A voice called my name. “Kathleen!”

I stood up and waved my arms over my head. “I'm here,” I shouted, relief making my whole body shake.

The light bounced again and turned in my direction and Elliot Gordon came out of the trees, trailed by a very wet black-and-white tuxedo cat. I pressed my hand to my mouth and sobs shook my body.

Elliot caught me by the shoulders. “Oh my God, Kathleen, are you all right?” he said. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered to his skull.

I nodded. “Hope's unconscious,” I said, gesturing behind me.

“Hang on,” Elliot said. He moved past me, crouching to check Hope.

I kneeled on the ground and gathered Hercules into my arms. He craned his head up and licked my chin. “I'm so glad to see you,” I said, half laughing, half crying. I unzipped my jacket and put him inside, zippering it around him, holding him against me with one hand. Even wet he was better than any electric blanket.

“Can you take this?” Elliot said, holding out the flashlight he was holding. “I'll carry her.”

He had a gash near his eye, angry and red, I realized.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Don't worry,” he said with a hint of a smile. “It wasn't your cat. I had a small altercation with a tree branch. I'm okay.” He was still holding out the light.

I took it from him, swinging it to look down into the cistern. The water had to be chest-height now. I could make out the remains of what looked to be a raccoon on the bottom. My hands trembled and I turned the light away.

Elliot looked at me, horror etched on his face. “Keller put you down there?” he asked.

I nodded. “It's not as deep as it looks.” Then I realized what he'd said. “Wait a minute. How did you know it was John?”

Elliot wiped the water from his face with one hand. “Long story,” he said. He glanced at the scarf still wrapped around Hope's wrist but didn't say anything else. He just untied the sodden fabric and handed it to me. I stuffed it in my pocket.

Elliot slid his arms under Hope's limp body and stood up. He gave me a look I couldn't quite fathom. “Let's get out of here,” he said.

Hercules poked his head out of the front of my jacket and meowed his enthusiasm for the idea.

“John Keller killed Dani,” I said to Elliot.