by Mira Gibson
As if sensing he’d taken notice, she said, “I shouldn’t have told my family we had a name.”
“You told them?”
“It seemed promising. I don’t know. I wanted to give them some hope. I don’t know why I thought Dalton might spill his guts. I thought he’d come around.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” Cody stole glances at her as they edged around the giant trunk of an oak tree. She looked downtrodden. When they cleared it he offered, “We’re getting close, Hannah.”
“To the site or finding my mother?”
He laughed a touch. Something about her candor had a way of warming him. “Both.”
They took the next few minutes in silence all the while Cody was debating with himself. He didn’t want to have to tell her the utterly bizarre news, but keeping secrets wasn’t their way now.
“Look, in regards to Candice confiding in Judy that Kendra’s abductors had been in the house...” he trailed off, felt her grip stiffen on his arm.
“What?” she asked soft and winded.
“The slug and shell we found in the yard? It’s a match to my 38 Special. The one I gave you.”
Hannah stopped walking and stared at him.
“I should’ve told you.”
“Tell me now,” he said, eager and fearful.
“I hadn’t touched it since you gave it to me. The other night I couldn’t find it.”
Cody’s stomach churned, but he tried not to overreact. “Where were you keeping it?”
“In my bag.”
“Where?”
“Near me always. Um, in Mary’s room when I slept in there. In the living room when I was on the sofa.”
“But you left it in the house unattended?” He hadn’t meant to sound alarmed, but that’s what he was and then some.
“Don’t be mad at me, please!” She hid her eyes with her hand then lowered it. “I’m just sick over this. Whoever the fuck’s doing this is coming and going as they please? Into our home? They went through my bag? What if they’re trying to pin the shooting on you? On me?”
“I’m not so worried about that,” he said, urging her onward. “It’s just up ahead.”
They walked on then reached an area where the trees were cleared away. Thick overgrowth took its place, forming twenty square yards of bushes and fallen logs. Cody led her through it and stopped when they reached its center.
“This is where the house was,” he said, pointing the flashlight along the brush and revealing the remnants of the house’s foundation.
“What are we looking for?” she asked, as she slowly stalked along the perimeter.
“Anything we can find.” Cody worked his way in the opposite direction, but stopped when he saw Hannah holding her head in her hands.
“Look,” he said, taking her hands then releasing them in favor of her shoulders. Clouds passed over the moon and her face fell into shadow then brightened. “I didn’t want to have to say this before, but I’m looking at Dale.”
“What?”
“I know you think he’s nothing more than erratic and stupid and a drunk, but I think he’s much smarter than that.”
“There’s no way, Cody-”
“Just hear me out. He had reason to hate Kendra. He had reason to hate the kids she was smoking drugs with-”
“And you think he roped them into harming her like that?”
“He’s harming them too.”
“You think he’s that twisted?” Hannah looked ill. “He cut off her hand, is that what you think?”
Cody stared at her hard. “Candice isn’t talking. Not really. Not to her family. She’s dropped bits and pieces for Judy and Judy alone. Something’s not right about that. Think about it.”
He could see her mind was reeling.
“If she’s living with the person who’s behind this how could she talk? She’s probably scared to death.”
“But-”
“Dale wasn’t at home the night Kendra was taken. Candice ran home to Mary. You said it yourself Mary needed you home because Dale was never around. What did Mary find out that he had to shoot her?”
“He didn't shoot her.”
“Do you know that or did he say that?” he challenged.
Hannah seemed to have to dip into her memory to find out.
“Ah, I woke up to the shot. I was in Mary’s room. I went running through the house. The front door was open.” As if she were realizing it then and there. “Dale was already on the yard.”
Decisively, he informed her, “You’re not staying in that house.”
Startled by his tone, Hannah stepped back, boot sinking into mud. “You think I’m going to leave the girls there with him?”
He eased back, rethinking things.
Hannah started shaking her head. “We know Mary lied about how close the shooter was, but if it’d been Dale, you think she wouldn’t tell me? Cody, she was clinging onto me for dear life in that hospital. All she wants is for me to stay.”
“I’m not trying to undermine your perspective, but you’ve got to understand how domestic violence works. You don’t know what happened to those girls the second you left at eighteen. You just don’t. Victims can feel worthless. They start to believe everything their abuser says. Mary and Candice, a seven year old? A four year old? They only knew what their parents taught them. If their dad raises them to think he could kill them at any time, and they can’t leave. They’re going to start to live by those rules. They accept them. That’s how they survive. Think about it. Kendra turned to drugs. She started going off on her own. Dale picked up on it. She was breaking the sick, abusive world he created. Maybe she could influence the girls to stray. So he gets rid of her.”
Hannah drew in a deep breath, processing his point.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to be sick.”
Cody did her the courtesy of keeping his flashlight off her when Hannah started heaving into a bush. His hand was on her back, rubbing until she’d gotten it all out, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and straightened up.
“We got to get them out of the house.”
Cody nodded.
“He’s got custody,” she added, tallying the roadblocks they faced. “He’s not going to let me take them. I doubt he’ll let them out of the house.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
They spent the next hour searching every inch of the foundation, and found nothing but crushed beer cans and a pile of cigarette butts, which Cody collected into a plastic bag.
Then Hannah’s heel clanked against something metal. The contact sent a hollow echo through the earth. In an instant, Cody was on his feet, walking fast to her, as she stomped on it.
“Angle the light right there.”
When he did, the beam showed a metal surface beneath the brush then he flashed it over a bulky padlock.
“Holy fucking shit,” she said under her breath, then looked at him, eyes white all around. “Some kind of cellar?”
“I’ll get the team over here.”
***
Hannah was on the brink of collapse by the time he’d gotten her to his house on the other side of the lake. She hadn’t needed much convincing. She didn’t want to go back to the shack and when Cody had offered to keep a cop outside the Cole house, she felt satisfied the girls would be safe for the night. There wasn’t much left of it anyway, an hour at best.
It’d taken far too long for the team to arrive and when they did it was hardly a team - one cop who was half asleep, one paid intern from the forensic department, and a locksmith. No one had been pleased to be there.
By the time the locksmith had broken the padlock off and they lifted the trap door, the moon was sinking into the horizon.
He’d told Hannah not to come down and she’d listened for a few minutes then clamored down the steps anyway.
The cellar had been empty.
No one had been more heartbroken than her.
She’d sat in a comatose state in his passenger’s seat. S
he'd drank. He’d been most worried she didn’t cry.
They’d found blood in the back room and a sleeping bag. In the front room, there had been more sleeping bags, a milk crate, methamphetamine paraphernalia, and canned food so thick with dust he doubted the perpetrators had brought them. Grim quarters.
When Hannah had taken in the reality of it all, grasping that her mother had lived down there for nearly a month, he could’ve sworn he saw another piece of her die.
“There’s a lot this place can tell us,” he’d assured her meaning to soothe and comfort her, keep her spirits high. But his had plummeted as well.
Stepping into the warm glow under the portico, Cody fit his key into the lock of his modest Colonial house, Hannah swaying inebriated beside him. He helped her through the door once he’d swung it inward, flipped on the hallway light, and guided her into the living room.
She perked up seeing his home, freed herself from his arm which had cradled her waist, and with heavy steps paced slowly around the room, eyeing the bookshelves, their many novels and inspirational books, then took her time analyzing the framed family photos.
“So this is what your life looks like?” She seemed to scowl at his sofa. Maybe it was the plaid upholstery or the overall woodsman feel to the place, he couldn’t decide.
“I guess.”
“It’s nice,” she commented, sitting on the coffee table, perhaps having overlooked the magazines fanned across it. Resting her elbows on her knees, she untwisted her flask. “Do you ever feel like the world is working against you?”
“Yeah. All the time.”
She nodded at that for a long moment and drank.
“Maybe you’ve had enough?”
She shook her head for an equal length of time. She was somewhere else entirely.
“I don’t sleep in beds.” She scanned the room like its contents no longer interested her. “I don’t like them. It feels like they’re trying to swallow me, like they want to suffocate me, like they want me dead.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but tried his best to fit it into context. “I was going to offer you my room, but you can sleep out here on the sofa if you prefer.”
“I like the floor. It’s solid. You can trust it.”
“Okay.”
“Has anything bad ever happened to you?”
She narrowed her eyes on him, turning the question into an accusation.
“I think so.”
“If you think then you don’t know,” she said, definitively. “Do you know why I stopped talking to you?”
“Because I shouldn’t have left that night.”
She took a moment to absorb his answer.
“Do you know what happened to me?”
He stared at her. She looked a wreck, and all he wanted to do was hold her. “I left and I guess you had to walk home. Dale socked me good for it if it’s any consolation.”
“No.” She locked eyes with him, but he could see it pained her to look at him. “I didn’t just walk home.” It seemed to take a lot for her to communicate the next fragment. “Some kids came. And they attacked me.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve never said that out loud before.” Another deep breath. “I blamed you.”
He was stunned. Words wouldn’t come. Offering an apology seemed too small.
“I also loved you,” she added as though it somehow made things worse. “Did you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love me?”
His breath hitched in his throat. “Yeah.” He had the impulse to ask the same, but wasn’t sure he could handle the answer, didn’t trust it’d be what he hoped.
Hannah got to her feet and gradually closed in on him. When she did, she gazed up into his eyes, taking his hand.
“I don’t know why, but I still love you.”
“I’m so sorry, Hannah.”
She waved off his apology and led him out of the living room. When they reached the landing at the top of the stairs it wasn’t a mystery where his bedroom was located. His house wasn’t that big. Once there, Hannah let go of him and left him in the dark. She started stripping the comforter and sheets off the bed and kicking them into shape on the floor. Then she returned to him, took his hand, and slowly walked backwards, bringing him there.
He felt like a wild animal was inviting him into its den, as they lowered to the blankets. He was cautious, yet fascinated, and made no sudden movements.
Hannah lay down and seemed to explore the solid floor at her back so he did the same, lying beside her.
Softly, she said, “Mary doesn’t want me to leave.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t either.”
Then she curled into him, fitting herself perfectly against his body, her head in the crook of his neck, her hand on his chest, one leg draped over one of his. When he was sure she was settled, he wrapped his arms around her and drifted into sleep.
***
Cody woke to the warm sun on his face. Hannah was curled around him like she had been, but the comforter now cocooned them.
Strange night magic.
He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. It felt so good having her like this. She loved him. Something good was coming out of the Cole's nightmare. Was that wrong to think? He hoped not.
Hannah stirred. Her hand smoothed down the length of his chest and she glanced up at him, kissing his neck, his cheek, venturing over, light pecks here and there, until she found his mouth, kissed him.
Her lips were warm and soft, and he let her control their rhythm, the depth, which she experimented with at times growing firm. And others she tapered back, being delicate. He wanted to drink her in, have all of her. He stiffened beneath his jeans, which compelled him to pull her on top of him. She draped over him easily, legs spreading, and he kept responding, breath quickening, needing more of her, needing to feel her skin against his bare chest.
As if she needed the same thing, Hannah lifted up and helped his jacket off, his shirt over his head, his undershirt next, until the cool draft hit him. He loved the way she pressed her palms into his chest, felt his muscles, hand traveling downward, giving him all the hope in the world.
He realized she was thrusting for him, their jeans rubbing and burning. Quickly, she wriggled her coat off, glanced at its holes disdainfully then shed it. Her sweater came next. He didn’t let her remove her bra. He wanted to do that.
He cupped her first, grazed his thumb over the thin material, feeling her harden to his touch.
Her gaze was so easy. A slight smile formed at the corners of her mouth. She looked happy.
Then he freed her, unclasping the bra, letting if fall to his stomach, and groaned at the sight of her.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, as she lowered down, cheek to his so she could unfasten his belt and work his jeans down.
Her effort grew urgent when his jeans came off. Her hands quickened over his body.
He cradled her, turned her to her back so he was over her, popping the top of her jeans open, tugging at the zipper, all the while kissing her. When he got them off there was very little between them and the sheer thought of it pushed him to the edge, but he steadied his thoughts and got lost in the paradise of her warm body, lithe arms, and long legs.
“Did you hear something?”
“No,” he groaned, returning his lips to hers.
She kissed him back. “That?” she said. “Did you hear that?”
Cody listened for it then heard the distinct sound of someone pound once at the front door. Then nothing.
“Wait,” she whispered, listening out.
Another singular pound.
It couldn’t have been seven in the morning.
“I’ll check it out.”
“Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
Cody pulled his jeans on and grabbed his gun, but didn’t bother with anything else then started down the stairs. As he approached the door
he heard a miserable groan that set his teeth on edge.
He cocked his GLOCK, as he shouted, “Who’s there?”
Other than groaning there was no formal response.
In an instant, he threw the door open and aimed, but the sight before him was so jarring it took a second for his brain to make sense of it.
Blood.
Terror-stricken eyes.
A cardboard box.
Somehow he realized it was a man, a kid at his door.
Hannah padded down the stairs.
“Stay there!” He ordered her. “Go back upstairs!”
Confused, she halted and from the corner of his eyes he saw she’d put on one of his old oversized tee shirts.
The kid was about to expire.
“Go upstairs, Hannah!”
When she retreated, he eased back, motioning with his gun for the kid to follow him inside. There was no mistaking. His tongue had been cut out just like Dalton’s. The darkest blood oozed down his chin.
Cody swept the barrel fast towards the dining room table that separated the rooms, indicating the kid should set the box there.
“Why here?” he asked, keeping his voice down. “Why not the station?”
The kid groaned.
“I have to get an ambulance here.”
Suddenly, the kid screamed, shaking his head and slicing his arms as if no say no way. Then he stumbled through the room, fell into the bookshelf, righted himself, tossing book after book onto the ground until he found one. Whether it was particular or conducive, Cody had no clue.
Then it clicked. He wanted to write.
Keeping his eyes and weapon on the kid, Cody grabbed a pen out of a drawer on the end table and handed it to him.
He collapsed into the sofa, but managed to flip the book open and begin scrawling. When blood dripped on it, he smeared it away and kept going.
Cody hadn’t heard Hannah come back down. He didn’t know she was in the living room, looking on with horror. It wasn’t until she opened the box and gasped that he realized she’d disregarded his orders.
“Shit,” he breathed, but had to ask, “What is it?”
Her voice was a trembling thread. “Ears.”
The kid tore a page from the book and extended it to Cody, but Hannah was the one to take it. She was shaking, as she scurried back a safe distance from the kid.