Terrified (42 page)
Monica let out an abrupt laugh. It was kind of funny the way he reeled around the small bedroom with that terrified, helpless look on his face. He started hitting himself in the stomach repeatedly. He was turning crimson.
Then she realized he might die in there, and she stopped laughing. This was serious. Lyle would be so pissed at her if the boy choked to death on her watch—and on an old sandwich she’d given him, no less. She jumped out of the chair, and pressed the intercom button by the window. “Are you okay?” she yelled. “Kid, are you okay in there?”
He didn’t respond—or even look her way. She wasn’t sure if the intercom worked. She’d never had cause to use it.
The boy fell to his knees and started convulsing.
“Shit!” Monica muttered. She rushed over to the door, unlocked the dead bolt, and swung the door open. The kid was wheezing and gagging. It was an awful sound she hadn’t heard from outside. He clutched the bedspread, and flailed on the floor.
“Jesus, hold on!” Monica cried, hurrying to his side. Before she could slap him on the back or anything, he rolled over. All at once, he leapt to his feet and swung his arm out, knocking her down.
Monica slammed against the bed and fell to the floor. It happened so fast that she didn’t even see him run out of the room.
But she heard him slam the door shut.
And then there was the click of the dead bolt, locking her in there.
The brunette woman on the other side of the glass looked familiar. But Josh couldn’t remember where he might have seen her before. She was kind of cheap and beat-up looking. And it wasn’t just because she was cursing and picking herself up off the floor at the moment. At least, he guessed those were curse words coming out of her mouth. He couldn’t hear what she was saying.
Josh caught his breath and glanced around. He realized he’d been right about where they were keeping him. He was in someone’s cellar. He gazed at four TV monitors in a large console cabinet to the right of the bedroom’s one-way window. Beneath the TVs, there was some audio-video equipment and a mess of cables and wires. One TV showed
Dancing with the Stars
, with the volume a bit loud. He hadn’t heard it in the next room. The slightly fuzzy images on the other three monitors had a green hue to them. Josh figured they were hooked up to nighttime security cameras. One monitor showed the side of a house; another displayed the start of a driveway from almost a bird’s-eye view; and another was the inside of a box-like room with a few cans and plastic bottles scattered about. It looked like another cell—for another prisoner who wasn’t there anymore. Had they been keeping his mother in there?
Dancing with the Stars
, with the volume a bit loud. He hadn’t heard it in the next room. The slightly fuzzy images on the other three monitors had a green hue to them. Josh figured they were hooked up to nighttime security cameras. One monitor showed the side of a house; another displayed the start of a driveway from almost a bird’s-eye view; and another was the inside of a box-like room with a few cans and plastic bottles scattered about. It looked like another cell—for another prisoner who wasn’t there anymore. Had they been keeping his mother in there?
Josh found the volume on the TV showing
Dancing with the Stars
. He tuned it lower so he could listen for anyone walking around upstairs.
Dancing with the Stars
. He tuned it lower so he could listen for anyone walking around upstairs.
All he heard was a muted murmuring in the next room. The woman was screaming into a cell phone, and then dialing again and again. It looked like she was having trouble getting a signal.
Josh turned and checked for any other alcoves or doorways off this main room. Before getting out of there, he needed to make sure his mother wasn’t imprisoned down here, too. To his right was a bathroom—with an old claw-foot tub and a rack above it that held all sorts of knives and saws. He switched on the light, and noticed fresh beads of water at the bottom of the tub—as if someone had used it within the last few hours. Along one curved corner near the top of the tub the droplets were a translucent pink.
A sudden mechanical noise gave him a start, and he realized it was the furnace starting up. Josh took a meat cleaver from the rack overhead, and then went to check the furnace room. The door was open, bringing in enough light for him to see the big monster of a furnace, mummified in a gray shell. On the unpainted, concrete floor he counted four mousetraps; one of them had a dead, slightly decayed prisoner.
Beside the furnace room was a big storage closet with some rusty old garden tools in it. Across from that was the laundry area—with a washer and dryer. A basketful of laundry sat on top of the dryer. Beside the laundry area were two more rooms—both with the doors closed. The first one was a small closet with women’s blouses and dresses on hangers—with clear plastic cleaning bags covering them. All the clothes looked just like outfits his mother wore.
He wasn’t sure if the clothes had been stolen from his mother’s closet or someone had gone out and bought duplicates.
Josh opened up the second door, and found an old Deepfreeze. He’d seen these in movies from the fifties and sixties. It was like a big horizontal refrigerator for storing slabs of beef or about a hundred frozen dinners. The thing was on. He could hear it humming. He couldn’t help thinking it looked like a coffin. With a shaky hand, Josh tugged the string attached to a light on the ceiling. He had to set down the cleaver to open the freezer lid. He dreaded looking at what lay inside there. But the freezer was empty. About an inch of white frost coated the interior—except along the bottom, where most of the frost was rust-colored.
To Josh, it resembled old bloodstains—just like those beads of pinkish water on the tub looked like fresh blood that hadn’t completely washed away. A while back, the freezer must have held a dead body, leaking blood. And that tub must have held one very recently—within the last few hours.
If his mom had been a prisoner here, he prayed he wasn’t too late.
All at once, he heard a loud thump. Josh swiveled around and saw the woman on the other side of the window, pacing in the bedroom while she spoke into her cell phone. She angrily slammed her fist against the mirror, and Josh heard the thump again. Obviously, she’d gotten through to someone.
Josh realized he didn’t have much time. He retrieved the cleaver and tiptoed up the creaky, wooden stairs to the first floor. He found himself in an ugly kitchen with mustard-colored appliances and old, peeling wallpaper. He glanced around for a telephone. He spotted a jack outlet for one on the wall by the kitchen door, but no phone.
He moved over to the sink and peered out the window. But he couldn’t see anything past his own reflection—no lights from neighboring houses, just blackness.
He retreated into the dining room—with built-in, dark-stained wood shelves and cabinets. Books, plates, pitchers, and glasses filled the shelves, but he stopped and stared at the two long center shelves. The upper one held a dozen framed photos of his mom. None of them were posed. It was almost like surveillance-camera art. One shot was of her reading a book in the living room of their former basement apartment—and it was obviously snapped by someone crouched down at the window, spying down on her. Josh was in a few of the photos, too. But his mother was the unwitting focus of attention in each shot.
On the shelf below, he recognized various knickknacks he hadn’t seen in years, little objects that went mysteriously missing. He saw an old Coca-Cola tumbler, another glass with playing cards on it, and a frosted wineglass from a set his mother used to have. Josh remembered when he was a kid, drinking 7UP out of those wineglasses and pretending he was having a cocktail. There were plates and cups from a dishware pattern he hadn’t seen since they moved out of the basement apartment. He recognized Christmas ornaments, refrigerator magnets, and earrings his mother used to wear. In the center of the shelf was the Seattle snow globe his mother had accused him of breaking and tossing out years ago. Josh remembered being so mad that she’d yelled at him for something he didn’t do.
Staring at the collection, he slowly shook his head. For years and years, someone had been breaking in and stealing stuff from the different apartments where he and his mom had lived.
He retreated into the living room, where once again he didn’t see a telephone. By the bay window, there was a big, old desk with a computer monitor on it. The screen saver was a photo of his mother, looking much younger—with dark hair. Josh figured he might try to notify the police online. He put down the cleaver, and manipulated the mouse. But the computer required a password for access. This guy seemed obsessed with his mom, so Josh tried
Megan
and
Lisa
for the password, but neither one worked.
Megan
and
Lisa
for the password, but neither one worked.
He turned to the window. Except for some bushes near the house, he didn’t see anything out there in the dark. He figured this place was really isolated.
He tried the desk drawers, hoping to find a cell phone—or maybe his own cell phone, and his keys with the chain Mr. Preebe gave him. All he found were stacks of old photos of his mother—mostly black-and-white shots on warped paper, like they’d been developed by an amateur photographer.
Amid them, he discovered a section of a recent
Seattle Times
, folded to the page with the photo of him receiving that award from the mayor. “What the hell?” Josh murmured.
Seattle Times
, folded to the page with the photo of him receiving that award from the mayor. “What the hell?” Josh murmured.
Shutting the desk drawer, he glanced at the pictures on the wall, thinking there might be one of that brunette woman downstairs—with her partner. But there were just paintings and prints. However he spotted a silver-framed photograph on the fireplace mantel. Josh didn’t recognize the pretty blond woman in the photo-portrait. She had big hair and wore a blue blouse that looked like it had padding in the shoulders. Josh remembered in the Willinghams’ living room, Darren’s mom had a picture of herself in one of those weird shoulder-padded blouses. She’d said those were in style about twenty years ago. Was that how old this picture was?
Beloved Sister
was inscribed along the bottom of the frame.
Beloved Sister
was inscribed along the bottom of the frame.
Josh heard a distant thump, and figured it was the woman downstairs again.
He couldn’t afford to stick around. He turned to retrieve the cleaver—and out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone behind him.
He froze for a second, and then realized he’d glimpsed his own reflection in the darkened window.
Catching his breath, it dawned on him that he’d need to hitch a ride to the nearest phone or police station. But who in their right mind would offer a lift to a crazed-looking, shoeless kid in a T-shirt, brandishing a cleaver? He decided he was better off with the poker from the fireplace set. It was safer to run with, and he could conceal it easier—against his leg or behind him.
With the poker in his hand, he peered out the window by the front door. The outside lights were on, and he saw a barn on the other side of the driveway turnaround. He remembered a movie in which someone was held prisoner in an underground bunker in a barn. Was his mother somewhere out there in that barn?
Turning around, he looked upstairs to the darkened second floor. He needed shoes and a sweater or a jacket. Was it worth the risk of getting trapped up there? What if that guy came back within the next few minutes?
Josh took a chance, and ran upstairs. Two of the bedrooms were dark and practically empty. But the third, the biggest, was a mess with the bed unmade and men’s and women’s clothes strewn about. In the closet, Josh hurriedly tried on some shoes. All of them were too small. He yanked a sweater off a hanger. It was blue and kind of gaudy with a black and white checkered design in front. Josh didn’t care. It looked warm.
Right now he would have killed for his orange Sunset Bowl jacket.
Throwing on the ugly sweater, he glanced around the bedroom for a telephone. Again, no luck. But he spotted a flashlight on the nightstand by the bed. Josh grabbed it, then ran out to the corridor and headed down the stairs.
The cool, night air actually felt refreshing as he stepped outside. It was so quiet and still. He had the poker in his hand and the flashlight tucked under his arm. Moths fluttered around the front porch light above him. Straight ahead was a long, long driveway. He could see some lights in the distance, but he knew he had a long hike ahead of him. Over by the slightly dilapidated barn, there weren’t any lights at all.
As he walked in his stocking feet across the pebbled driveway toward the barn, Josh wished like hell he had some shoes. Passing an elm tree that had lost most of its leaves, he suddenly recognized where he was. He’d seen the house and the barn from this angle on one of the TV monitors in the basement. Josh squinted at a wire wrapped around the base of the elm. He switched on the flashlight and aimed its beam into the branches. He found the camera mounted on one of the lower branches. Just above it, the light caught a pair of eyes staring down at him.
Josh let out a gasp, and tipped the flashlight up. A raccoon looked back at him, and then lazily climbed higher into the branches.
As he got closer to the barn, the pebbles beneath his feet gave way to a dirt road. He put down the flashlight and the poker to tug at the old barn door. It creaked and scraped against the ground as he pulled it open. A U-Haul van took up nearly the whole barn. A tangle of wires and cables ran down one side of the truck. Josh found the latch to the back door. With a grunt, he pulled up the door and it made a loud racket. The smell wafting from within the back of the van almost made him gag.
Staggering back, he grabbed the flashlight from the ground and shined it toward the interior space. He recognized the blank, corrugated walls—along with the open cans and bottles scattered around. Up near the ceiling was a mounted camera—with a pinpoint green light beneath the lens. He figured the camera must have had infrared capabilities. There was a light up near the ceiling, but it was off.
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