[Shelby Alexander 01.0] Serenity

by Craig A. Hart

  The basement had clearly held prisoners before. Three steel poles supported the basement ceiling and around each was wrapped a length of chain connected by a padlock. It smelled of body odor and feces, and Shelby wondered how many of the area’s missing persons had met their end in this very basement.

  The guards chained them to separate poles, found and confiscated their cellphones, and then left them, turning the light off as they went back upstairs. As the bulb faded, the basement plunged into total darkness.

  Shelby wasted no time testing the strength of his chains, but they were solid and locked tight.

  “You do associate with interesting people,” Mack said.

  “I had no idea this basement existed.”

  “Maybe your friend Harper was ignorant as well.”

  “He wasn’t a friend.”

  “Fine. Your business associate.”

  “I’d like to believe he knew nothing about this, but that isn’t possible. He lived in this house. And judging from the condition of this basement dungeon, it’s been in use for quite a long time.”

  Shelby heard chains rattle in the darkness. Probably Mack trying his bonds, searching for a weakness.

  “Smells like someone is dead down here right now,” Mack said. “You think they’ll kill Stevens?”

  “Not unless they have to. Gannon will get rid of him as soon as he can. And then I guess we’re business number one. I’m sorry to get you into this, Mack.”

  “I’ve been living on borrowed time anyway, given first my profession and then my diet. Cholesterol through the roof, blood pressure spiking. I drink too much, exercise too little, and stay awake too late at night. Better to go out in a blaze of glory, rather than die in bed like the old goat I really am.”

  “If Gannon has his way, it won’t be much of a blaze of glory,” Shelby said. “Sounds like he’s in the mood to practice his skills with that knife of his.”

  “He cut off his brothers’ faces?”

  Shelby nodded, even though it was completely dark. “I saw Harper afterward. A gruesome sight. One I won’t soon forget. Not until I die anyway, which I suppose is likely to be soon.”

  “Don’t give it up yet,” Mack said. “We’ve both been in tight spots before and kept kicking.”

  “Yeah…it feels different this time.”

  “Different?”

  “Those other times, I always knew I’d find a way to survive. That I had to fight a little longer or think a little harder. I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting even older than I realized.”

  “That’s the voice of experience talking. It’s the same with young cops. They think they’re indestructible. If they’re lucky enough to survive that foolhardy period without getting either shot or suspended, they start gaining maturity. Every cop I knew who neared retirement spent the last six months convinced they were going to die on the job. It was hell for them. I only saw it happen once. A guy went out on his last shift and checked out a routine call. A little domestic thing in an affluent neighborhood. No history of violence, nothing. A couple arguing a little too loud, maybe some alcohol in the mix. So he drives up, parks his car, walks up to this big house, and rings the bell. No answer, but he hears yelling and something crashing around. Then the woman screams. The officer tries the door, it’s unlocked, so he steps into the foyer. The woman comes running around the corner and ducks down a hallway. The husband comes in a second later, crazy drunk and holding a gun. He sees someone standing in the foyer, thinks it’s his wife trying to escape out the front door, and fires off two shots. Kills the officer on the spot. I talked to the widow at the funeral. She said they’d already bought a motorhome and planned to visit every national park in the United States. A lifelong dream of theirs ended in seconds.”

  “That’s a terrible story. Why would you tell me that right now?”

  “I figured I might not have another chance.”

  “You’re a real downer in a crisis, you know that?”

  “It’s been said.”

  Shelby heard the chains shake again. “Any luck?”

  “With what?”

  “Loosening your chains.”

  “I tried that right away. They’re tight as a virgin.”

  “I heard you shake them.”

  “I didn’t move a muscle. I thought that was you.”

  “Nope.”

  “Holy shit. There’s someone down here with us.”

  They sat quietly in the blackness…waiting, listening.

  “Anyone there?” Shelby called.

  Nothing.

  Then Mack yelled.

  “Shit!”

  “Mack!”

  “Something—someone—touched my damn face. Holy—damn—get the hell away from me!”

  Shelby scooted toward his friend, moving sideways, crablike, reaching out, feeling with grasping fingers, trying to grab hold of either Mack or whatever was grabbing hold of him. He clutched fabric and received a glancing blow on the head for his trouble.

  “Mack, it’s me.”

  “It wasn’t you a minute ago. We’re not alone down here.”

  Shelby searched the darkness, his eyes open wide like a camera’s aperture trying to let in more light. Nothing. Then he thought he caught a slight movement, or maybe it was only a sound, and a bright light stabbed his staring eyes.

  “Shit!”

  Shelby covered his eyes with his hand, momentarily blinded. He heard Mack breathe a long and meaningful string of profanity. He withdrew his hand as his eyes slowly adjusted. He blinked, less as a result of the sudden light and more because they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  An old woman held a flashlight. Her face was worn, her hair dirty and gray.

  “Who’re you?” she said. Her voice was rough, but seemed so from disuse rather than age. There was something about her, the unnatural quality of someone aged beyond their years.

  “You might answer the same question,” Mack said.

  “I live here. You two prisoners?”

  “You could say that. And you, I take it.”

  “I ain’t no prisoner. I live here.”

  “What about that chain on your leg?”

  “That’s to keep me safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “I have spells. They keep me locked up so I don’t hurt myself.”

  “You have a name?”

  “You’re speakin to Mrs. Ellis. This here is my clan.”

  “You’re Mrs. Ellis?” Shelby was stunned. If this was actually Mrs. Ellis, then she couldn’t be nearly as old as she looked. Not with Jenny being only thirty. “Gannon and Harper—?”

  “A coupla my boys. I’m sure proud of em. Done real well in the world.”

  “Are they the ones keeping you locked up?”

  “They don’t want me hurtin myself. They love their ma, my boys.”

  “How long have you been down here?”

  “Couldn’t rightly say. I come down here not too long after Jenny was born. You know Jenny? She’s a good girl.”

  Shelby stared at the old woman. He’d seen many things and didn’t shock easily, but this caused a charge in his chest. For a moment, he thought his heart might seize. Jenny Ellis had been around thirty years old when she died. No wonder the woman had aged so quickly. Shelby hated to think what he would look like if he spent thirty years down here, a prisoner.

  “Yes, ma’am. I knew her,” Shelby said quietly. His throat felt tight. From what Mrs. Ellis said, she didn’t know Jenny was dead. If that was the case, she probably didn’t know about Harper either. He wondered if she knew anything that had happened to her family over the last three decades.

  “Mrs. Ellis,” Mack said, “do you spend all your time down here? Don’t you ever get outside?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know what to do outside. World’s a big place. I never knew what to do in it. But my boys is good to me. They bring me food and empty my bucket. They left me this flashlight for when the light’s out. Change the batteries regular too. Once in a
great while, if they think it’s safe, I get to go upstairs for a look around.”

  “Where do you sleep? On the floor?”

  Mrs. Ellis laughed, a dry, grating sound like the lid of a sarcophagus being moved after 3,000 years.

  “Good heavens, no. I got me a cot back in the corner.” She shined the flashlight back and Shelby saw a makeshift lean-to built with grungy blankets draped over chairs and what appeared to be a construction sawhorse. Under the shelter were piled rags and a thin, lumpy mattress or sleeping bag. “That’s where I was when you two were brought. You musta done somethin real bad to get thrown down here.”

  “Do you get a lot of visitors?” Shelby asked.

  “Not many. Sure is nice when they come, though.”

  “I imagine it gets a little lonely down here.”

  “It does at that. My boys do their best, but they don’t have time to spend with their old ma. Too full up runnin the business. You two seem nice enough. The last fella didn’t talk much. Slept a lot, although that mighta been on account he was a little beat up when he got here.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Oh, I lose track of time. I couldn’t rightly say. Seems a long time. And it sorta seems like yesterday. I guess it coulda been yesterday. But I don’t think so. It was longer than that. Maybe a month or a year. Somethin like that.”

  The basement door opened and a guard appeared, lugging a uniformed body. He shoved it through the door. The body thudded and slid down the steps in horrible slow motion, the limbs flopping like dead eels and the head thumping. The body came to rest at the bottom of the stairs. Shelby recognized Deputy Stevens. The deputy’s face was a bloody mass and one arm appeared broken, judging from its unnatural angle.

  “There’s another one for you,” the guard said. “We’ll be back for you two later.”

  “Is my son comin to see me today?” Mrs. Ellis said. “I been havin a pain in my side somethin awful.”

  “Shut up, you old bitch.” The guard slammed the door and Shelby heard the click and thud of a deadbolt.

  “He ain’t a nice man,” Mrs. Ellis said. “Not like my boys. Not like you two.”

  Mack looked at Shelby. “Is that Stevens?”

  “Used to be.”

  “I think he’s still alive.”

  Shelby looked closer. “Mrs. Ellis, can I borrow your light?”

  The old woman clutched the flashlight and held it close to her chest. The vertical shaft of light illuminated her face, making her appear even more ghoulish.

  “It’s mine,” she said. “It’s my light.”

  “I’ll give it back. I want to shine it on the deputy there to see if he’s still breathing.”

  “Cops. I don’t like cops. They never did me no good.”

  “They might, if we ever get out of here.”

  “Cops put away my boy.”

  “You mean Scott?”

  “Scotty was a sweet boy. He never done nothin. They took him away and put him in prison somewhere. Harper told me about it.” Without warning, the old woman began crying. “I sure wish Harper’d come see me. He used to come down and change the batteries in my flashlight.”

  “Can I see the light, Mrs. Ellis? I’ll give it right back.”

  Grudgingly, suspiciously, she handed the flashlight to Mack, who handed it to Shelby. Shelby turned the light on Stevens, searching for signs of life.

  “I think he’s still breathing,” he said. “But he won’t be for long. It looks like he’s been shot.”

  “Gimme back that light,” Mrs. Ellis said.

  Shelby examined the metal flashlight. Heavy duty and solid, it weighed down his hand and gave him an idea. He scooted around until he could see where his chain wrapped around the support pole. It went around once, and then was secured by a padlock that locked the chain around the support. He tested the chain around the pole, checking for slack. There wasn’t much, but perhaps enough to fit the shaft of the flashlight through. He pulled the chain tight and wedged the flashlight between the support pole and the chain. It fit, but barely. Then he gripped each end of the light and began twisting it like a tourniquet. Using all his strength, he twisted…but couldn’t quite manage enough leverage to make a decent try at snapping the chain.

  “Mack, can you get close enough to hold this flashlight?”

  Mack scooted toward him and, by stretching out, managed to grip the end of the light.

  “I need you to hold it steady. If I stand up, I may be able to use my leg strength to snap this thing, as long as the flashlight doesn’t go first.”

  “What’re you doin with my light?” Mrs. Ellis said. “You promised to give it back, now.”

  “You’ll get it,” Shelby said. He knew the maneuver, successful or otherwise, would ruin the light, but he needed her quiet.

  He got to his feet and braced against the pole.

  “Watch your fingers,” he said. Then he brought his foot down on the end of the flashlight as hard as he could. There was a pop and a crunch and the light went out.

  Mrs. Ellis let out a wail that could have been heard all the way to Hades.

  “My light! You done broke my light!”

  “Shut her up, Mack. They’ll hear her.”

  Shelby heard Mack cross the floor and then the sounds of a scuffle.

  “Damn it, she got away.”

  “You ruined it! You ruined my light! I’ll get you for this! My boys’ll see you dead!”

  Shelby fumbled in the dark, trying to locate the chain to see if it was broken. He found it and pulled hand over hand. It caught, then kept coming. He was free. He stuck his hands up, feeling for the light. After what seemed like minutes, he felt the fragile hardness of the light bulb and yanked the string. The basement lit up with a dirty glow and he saw Mrs. Ellis, her mouth open and wailing, huddled beneath her lean-to. She held something dirty and ragged close to her chest and rocked back and forth.

  Shelby moved across the basement.

  “Mrs. Ellis…Mrs. Ellis. We’ll get you another light. A better one. You have to be quiet.”

  “My light, my light, my light…you broke my light…”

  “Mrs. Ellis—”

  “You promised, you promised…”

  Shelby drew back his fist and delivered a solid blow to the side of her head. The woman went silent and fell backward, still holding the thing close. Shelby looked at it. It was an old Raggedy Ann doll, filthy and missing stitches and stuffing.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Shelby Alexander slugged an old lady,” Mack said. “But I have to say I’m glad you did.”

  “We’ll be lucky if I didn’t slug her too late,” Shelby said. “She may be frail, but she’s got a hell of a pair of lungs. I want to check on Stevens.”

  The deputy was alive and, although in bad shape, opened his eyes when Shelby bent over him.

  “Alexander—” Stevens broke off with a cough.

  “What happened to you?” Shelby said. “Why’d they work you over?”

  “—drove out to question—Ellises about Evans’ death—saw your Jeep and started asking questions.”

  “Bad move.”

  “Well—it was clear something was off. Gannon lost his nerve—came for me. I drew my weapon—one of his men put a bullet in me—then Gannon had some fun of his own.”

  “I see your arm is a little worse for wear.”

  “Snapped it like a twig—the man’s a beast.”

  “I know you’re hurt pretty bad. Can you stand? We need to get out of here or none of us are likely to be alive this time tomorrow. Either that or we’ll wish we were dead.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Stevens said. His voice had grown weaker in the time he’d begun speaking. “You fellas go ahead—send back help. I’m too far gone to run. I’d slow you down.”

  “If I don’t get Mack free, none of us are going anywhere,” Shelby said. “I’m not leaving both of you.”

  Shelby moved across the basement to Mack and examined
the chain holding his friend, but it was as secure as his had been and the flashlight would never be good for anything ever again. He began searching the basement for anything that could be used to snap the chain: a crowbar, a hammer, a hatchet. But he saw nothing. It was as if someone had scanned the basement with an eye to removing any potential tools or weapons, which was probably exactly what had happened. There was a shelving unit, piled high with old blankets and a couple of boxes, which upon examination revealed, of all things, Christmas decorations. Shelby decided there was something extra disturbing about finding holiday ornamentation in a dungeon basement.

  “Find anything?” Mack asked.

  “The place has been swept clean.”

  Shelby heard voices and heavy steps overhead. Someone was back inside. Any minute, the guard would appear at the basement door with news of their fate.

  Shelby took another careful look around the room. The lean-to, the pile of rags the old woman slept on, the shelf—he stopped and looked back at the lean-to. It had been constructed with blankets draped over chairs, like a child’s fort. He moved to it and pulled the blankets off. The chairs were wooden, old and rough, but they might work. He lay one on its back and brought his foot down on one of the chair legs. It snapped off, leaving him with a hefty club. It was old wood, but it might be strong enough. He went to Mack and performed the same maneuver with the chair leg he had with the flashlight.

  “Hold this end,” he said.

  Mack did so and Shelby stomped with all his strength.

  The chair leg shattered. Mack yelped and jerked back.

  “Shit! Splinter in my eye.”

  “What about the chain?”

  Shelby bent and examined the chain. It had held.

  “The wood’s too old and fragile.”

  “Look, Shel, just go. You might be able to make it. Like Stevens said, you can send help back. If you stay, we’ll all die. It’s our only hope.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Mack. You’d be dead by the time I got help. I probably wouldn’t make it on my own anyway.”

  “You’ve got to. You can’t snap these chains with your bare hands.”

  “I’m about to try—wait…” Shelby moved over to the shelf and ran his hand down the side. It was of metal construction, one of those assembly-required units found at home improvement stores. The shelves were held to the supports by screws. The supports were in sections. Shelby felt sure he could use one to snap the chain, if only he could remove it. There were four screws holding each support section in place. He tried his fingernail on the screw heads, but they were much too tight. If only there was something he could use for a screwdriver…he thought about the spring from the inside of the broken flashlight, but knew it would never hold up. Then he saw Stevens.