The Coffin (Nightmare Hall) (17 page)

She had alternated between sides, prying away half the nails on the upper left side of the rear wall, then half on the upper right side, so that she could push away the upper half just enough to get some air. It seemed to Tanner that after being confined to this tiny, dark, airless place, she would never again have enough air in her lungs.

The upper half of the rear wall budged only a little when she pushed against it, the wood unyielding, unbending. But the gap she had created along the top half of both sides gave her more light, made it easier for her to work on the bottom half of the rear wall.

I’m crazy, she thought as she used the metal ruler as a lever, I’m as crazy as he is. This is never going to work, never. I could have this back piece almost all the way off, even be on the very last nail, and he could walk in and catch me. All of this hard work will have been for nothing, I’ll be dead, and he’ll probably bury me in this stupid box!

But she had to keep going. Some stubborn core deep inside of her wouldn’t let her stop. “So what if he catches me?” she asked the metal ruler as she slid it beneath yet another nailhead. “At least I didn’t give up without a fight.”

She went on working.

It seemed like days, months, years, before she pulled the very last nail out of the side wall, leaving it intact in the rear wall. But she still had to separate the back section from its ceiling and floor.

That was easier. Sigmund had done those last, and had been very sloppy. It didn’t take her that long.

When the last nail had been pried upward, Tanner’s hands were sore and swollen and the tips of her index fingers and thumbs were bleeding. She didn’t care. She had done what she set out to do.

She was proud of herself for not crying, for not dissolving into a puddle of saltwater on the floor of The Booth. In spite of the pain she was in, it felt good to be taking charge of her life, no matter how futile her efforts might be. She felt a tiny bit less like a victim.

Her heart told her it wasn’t going to do any good. Sigmund was so much stronger than she was, especially now, when she was so weak and tired. He’d be here soon, and she didn’t have a chance against him. Not really.

But, she’d tried.

Charlie would be proud of her.

She felt feverish. Blood poisoning, because of her feet? Probably.

Maybe it was just the stuffiness of The Booth.

Carefully, gently, Tanner pushed against the now-detached rear wall of The Booth, still perfectly aligned next to the sides, just as it had been before she pried the nails free of the side wall. If he walked in this very minute, she thought, Sigmund wouldn’t be able to tell that I’d done anything. It doesn’t show.

But in the next second, as she pushed harder, the wall came free of the sides and slowly tipped backward, then just as slowly fell to the floor.

Holding her breath in awe, Tanner watched it fall. Air rushed in to meet her, and she almost smiled.

But there was no time to waste. This was only the first part of her crazy plan, if she could even call it a plan. A hope, that’s what it was, a crazy, bizarre hope born out of desperation.

Only a half-finished hope at that.

She was so very tired. All she really wanted to do was lie down on the soft, thick carpet and close her eyes. She needed to rest. She needed hours and hours, maybe days of rest.

But not now. There wasn’t time.

Taking a deep breath, Tanner stepped free of her coffin.

W
HEN CHARLIE HURRIED INTO
the frat house, Tom Wylie, sitting in the living room, called out to him. “Message for you, Cochran.”

Impatient with the delay, but hoping against hope that it might be from Tanner, Charlie ran over and grabbed the small piece of paper. It told him that a Sergeant Cleary from the Twin Falls police department had called and wanted to see him as soon as possible.
“Important”
was scrawled across the bottom of the note in Tom’s hen-scratch.

“Can’t I just call him?” Charlie said, anxious to get to Tanner’s house.

Tom shook his head. “Nope. Made that very clear. Something he wants you to see, he said. Better get your tail down there, Charlie.” He grinned. “What’d you do, rob a bank? That how you got that sling on your arm?”

Tom knew nothing about Tanner being missing, or how Charlie had broken his arm. This was no time to fill him in. Thanking him for taking the message, Charlie ran up the stairs to Sloane’s room. He didn’t know what to think. Maybe this Sergeant Cleary had good news for him about Tanner. Or maybe he had discovered, as Charlie had, the identity of someone who just might know where Tanner was.

But … Charlie’s steps slowed … the police believed that Tanner had left town of her own free will on some fun-filled jaunt to the Orient and therefore hadn’t been searching for her. So how could they know anything? Anything
good!
Wouldn’t any news they had be
bad
news? Something that had accidentally come to their attention, like a … a body?

Oh, God, what was he thinking? He was
not
going to think like that. Besides, the police didn’t just call when they found a body, did they? Didn’t they at least come in person to deliver that kind of news? On television, they did.

Sloane was in his room, but there was no one with him. “Couldn’t raise Philip and Vince,” he said. “Sorry.” He looked sullen. “I missed a math test, by the way, waiting for you. Have to make it up on Monday.”

“Where’s Sandy?” Charlie barked, unsympathetic to Sloane. Sloane just wasn’t used to not having his own way, that was all. He’d get over it. “Why isn’t she here?”

“How should I know? I can’t keep track of everyone. I called Sandy’s room, and there wasn’t any answer. Maybe she’s out looking for Joellen. So, are we going to Tanner’s house or not? I’ve got another class in half an hour.”

“Forget it,” Charlie said brusquely. “We have more important things to do. C’mon, we have to go into town.”

Sloane looked unhappy. “All the way into town? What for?”

“Police station. Sergeant there wants to see me. I think he has news about Tanner. Come on, Sloane, quit dragging your heels, I’ll drive. Then, unless something that sergeant tells us changes my mind, we’re going straight to Tanner’s house.”

“Well, I hope that sergeant knows where she is and that she’s fine and dandy, Charlie,” Sloane said grimly, although he left his chair and grabbed a jacket out of the closet. “Because you’re driving everybody nuts thinking something’s happened to her, when all that probably happened is that Tanner decided to escape from that father of hers.
I
don’t blame her,” he groused as they left the room. “Who’d want to live with him?”

The car seemed to Charlie to crawl toward town, even though he pressed as hard on the accelerator as he dared. The town police were always on the lookout for college students speeding. The distance between campus and the village had never seemed longer.

It took him an extra five minutes to find a parking space near the police station.

By the time they ran inside the police station, Charlie’s head was pounding. This was taking up so much valuable time, when he could be in that house looking for Tanner. Or on campus checking out a discharged mental patient whose name he now knew. Whatever the sergeant had to tell him had better be worth the trip.

There were four people ahead of him, tending to business of one sort or another with the desk sergeant. The man at the head of the line was arguing loudly, and it didn’t look like he was going to give up any time soon.

But when an impatient Charlie went to another officer to ask for help, he was waved back to the desk at the front of the room. Clearly, no one received help without first going through the desk sergeant.

Charlie paced back and forth, watching the minutes pass on a large round clock at the front of the room.

When he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, and that nothing Sergeant Cleary could tell him would be worth wasting all this time, the last person left the line and he was finally facing the desk sergeant.

“Sergeant Cleary, please,” Charlie said, “I’m Charlie Cochran. Sergeant Cleary asked to see me.”

The desk sergeant lifted his head from papers he’d been working on and looked at Charlie. “Today? Cleary wanted to see you today?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes. He left a message saying it was important. Something he wanted to show me.”

The sergeant shook his head. “I don’t think so. Cleary didn’t call you today. He’s in Norfolk, Virginia, at a seminar. Left Monday. Won’t be back until Saturday afternoon. Doesn’t seem like he’d be calling you from Virginia. You sure you got the name right?”

“I didn’t take the message,” Charlie said impatiently. “Someone else did. But that’s the name he wrote down. Cleary. Sergeant Cleary.”

“Well, he’s not here. Hasn’t been. Won’t be. Someone gave you a bum steer, kid. And what is it that you think Sergeant Cleary would be wanting to see you about? Maybe I could help.”

But Charlie was already running from the police station, dragging Sloane along with him. Charlie was shaking his head and muttering, “I don’t believe this, I am such a fool! What a total idiot!”

He did not obey the speed limit signs on his way back to campus and Faculty Row.

O
UT OF THE COFFIN
, Tanner wanted nothing so much as to relish her freedom. She wanted to run around the room, leaping for joy, touching things, breathing in the air, staring up at the brilliant blue sky above the skylight.

But she didn’t dare. No time. She’d been lucky so far. He could turn the key in that lock at any second, and there would be the back wall of The Booth lying on the floor. She would never survive his anger.

Bending painfully, Tanner lifted the back wall and aligned it once again along the side walls. When it was in place, she picked up the heavy Scotch tape dispenser and wielded it as a hammer, knocking the nails back into their holes in the side walls. It wasn’t important to get them in perfectly, or even all the way, just enough to hold the back wall in place. That would be enough if her plan worked.

While she was hammering frantically, she tried to keep her eyes on the screens high up on the walls for some sight of Sigmund. That was difficult, because she had to keep her eyes on the nail holes as well.

She finally gave up on the screens, telling herself that it was more important to finish her task.

She had two more nails left when she heard the key turning in the lock.

Grabbing up the metal ruler from the carpet, she threw herself into the empty woodbox beside the fireplace and drew the lid down on top of her. She had just shut out the last tiny bit of light when the door opened and Sigmund called out, “Pizza, anyone?”

In her hiding place Tanner shook so violently, she was sure he’d see the woodbox trembling and come to see why. She could smell the pizza. It smelled heavenly, tormenting her hungry stomach and reminding her of fun afternoons and evenings at Vinnie’s, with her friends. She made a face of disgust. He was going to feed her now, finally, when he was about to kill her? Sick! He was so sick! No wonder her father had had him put away. She’d like to get her hands on the person who had let him out.

She was listening so hard in an effort to keep track of his movements, her ears ached with the strain.

She heard the sound of the pizza box sliding onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Then soft, whispery footsteps on the carpet, moving … moving where? Tanner tilted her head, pressed her ear up close against the front of the woodbox. Footsteps moving toward The Booth? She had to pay attention, had to know exactly when he was standing directly in front of The Booth with the door open. He wouldn’t be able to see the woodbox then. The door opened to his right and, once fully open, would hide the woodbox from his view.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he sang cheerfully, and she knew he was at the door to The Booth. That wasn’t enough. He had to
open
it, so he couldn’t see her climbing out of the woodbox, couldn’t see her coming from behind the open door, sneaking up behind him …

She heard the wooden latch twist, and, blessedly, the coffin door creaked as it swung open.

“What the hell … ?” she heard him shout and knew he was staring, probably open-mouthed, into the empty booth.

She tumbled out of the woodbox, jamming the tape dispenser between the top and the lid to prevent any slamming sound when the lid fell. Then she jumped up and ran to The Booth, rounding the open door and coming up behind him.

He was still standing there, staring into The Booth, and never heard her coming.

She threw out her arms, hitting him between the shoulders with all the force she could muster. He didn’t fall. She knew he wouldn’t. He was so much heavier than she was. But he was completely taken by surprise, and uttering a startled oath, he lurched forward, off balance.

Quickly, she shoved again, and because he hadn’t yet regained his balance, this time he stumbled all the way into The Booth.

Tanner slammed the door shut and twisted the latch into place.

Then she stared at The Booth, disbelieving.

It had worked.

He was trapped.

W
HEN SIGMUND WAS SAFELY
inside the coffin that he himself had built, Tanner let out a triumphant cry.

But she wasn’t safe yet. That back wall wasn’t on all that securely, she knew that. Right now, he was pounding on the door, which she’d expected. But when that didn’t work, he just might turn his attention to the back wall, and see the gaps she’d seen. It wouldn’t take him any time at all to knock that back wall free.

She wouldn’t be safe until there was no way for him to escape. None.

He was stronger than she was, and The Booth itself weighed something. But if she couldn’t do this last part, it would all have been for nothing, because Sigmund would, sooner or later, free himself.

She stood back, a short distance from The Booth, and taking a deep breath, threw herself at it.

The Booth shook, but that was all.

That wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t enough.