After sixteen steps over the soft ground, she heard him fiddling with a set of keys.
“Where are we?” Her voice came out husky, her balance wavering. The air was crisper than before. He’d taken them to some mountain hideaway, some secret place he’d saved for when he needed to lay low. Ignoring her question, he pushed the door open and pulled her inside. The smell of burnt wood hung in the air, as if a fire had only recently cooled. A thick throw rug muffled the sound of their shoes. As Frank closed the door behind them, she smelled old coffee and something else, like the scent of an outhouse. She wrinkled her nose.
Frank threw his keys onto a stand and pulled her across the room, dragging her like a heavy suitcase he would be glad to put down. “You’re going to stay in here for the night,” he said, “so I can get some sleep.”
Loreena stumbled along beside him, the putrid scent growing stronger as they neared the wall. Frank turned what sounded like a deadbolt. “You’ll be sharing it with somebody, but I don’t imagine you’ll mind.”
Loreena’s senses came alive, her eyes widening. Share it with somebody? The foul smell was nearly unbearable now, like a public restroom that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. Frank slid a piece of steel to the left and then jiggled a twist lock.
How many locks were there on this one room?
“Who’s in there?” she asked.
“How about we leave that as a surprise?”
Visions of Charlie flashed in her mind. She stepped back, but Frank was still holding her arm. “Please, I won’t go anywhere.”
“I need to get some sleep, not rest with one eye open listening for you trying to escape. Or something worse.”
“No.” Her voice came out like a whine.
“Stop worrying. He’s not going to hurt you.”
He? Loreena shook her head. No no no. Pulling back, she braced her feet against the floor, but he opened the door and shoved her inside. When he let go she came back, trying to get out, but he closed it in her face. Pressing her gloved palms flat against the wood, she dared not scream.
Click. Click. Thud. Three locks. Frank’s footsteps retreated to the other side of the cabin. Another door squeaked shut, and then everything was quiet.
Loreena stood trembling, wide awake now. At her next breath, she pressed her hand over her mouth and nose, the stench burning her throat. Human excrement and urine. It was worse than an outhouse. She fought the urge to cough—but then, surely whoever was there had to be aware of her presence. Just the opening and closing of the door would be enough to wake anyone.
Flattening her back against the frame, she tried to breathe through her hand so as not to vomit. The darkness was unbearable in the stink, her sense of smell overwhelmed, her sense of touch useless as she dared not venture forth for fear she would run straight into whoever it was Frank was keeping here. Her ears were all she had left. Stiffening her muscles to stop her trembling, she struggled to keep her mind from racing off into the place she knew was so close now, that raging madness that made her want to scream and laugh and pound the walls, throw her gloves off her hands and whirl about the putrid room until she ran into whatever it was that lived there, and joined hands with him to go into some new wretched version of Hell. Praying whoever it was wouldn’t harm her, she slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her back against the door, her shaking hand held out in front of her.
The seconds played like minutes, the deep silence amplifying the sound of her beating heart. It had been forever since she had stayed in the mountains, and somewhere in her mind she knew that there was no quiet so still as the quiet in a forest, from that time long ago when she had gone somewhere like this with her mom and Saul. They had driven many hours to a lakeside campground in the hills, where they caught fish from a wooden boat and rode bikes around the thin forest trail and roasted marshmallows over the fire and slept in a tent. But that silence had been peaceful and comforting, her body safe inside a thick sleeping bag with Saul and her mom breathing deeply nearby, the fire dying in the clearing beyond. That silence was beautiful and calming and invigorating at the same time, and Loreena had woken up in the night just to peek out the tent flap at the bright stars.
This was different. Heavy and menacing, this was like the silence in horror movies, when the girl walked through the house in her bare feet and the bad guy was waiting just around the corner, his shiny knife glinting in the moonlight. This was the silence before the screams. She tried to shake the bad thoughts away and focus on what she could hear. There had to be something. Even in a nighttime forest, there were owls.
But there were none. No owls. No running water. No raccoon or skunk or badger rooting around the outside of the cabin. After an interminable amount of time, something made a ticking noise on the opposite side of the room, and she jumped. Waving her hand back and forth, she feared any minute she would touch whoever it was. When she felt nothing, she retreated into her bones and waited another few seconds before jumping again, searching and shaking. This time she was certain she had heard something, over there, to the left. The thought occurred to her that the room could have other creatures in it, like rats or snakes or other vermin attracted by the smell. They could sense the warmth of her body. Imagining tiny feet or scales sliding over her skin, she started tapping her hands around her, making sure the floor was clear, tapping in a general rhythm behind, on either side, and to the front. For what seemed like hours she sat that way, checking and rechecking, until her muscles were exhausted from holding her body taut and ready, her temples pounding over her scalp and ears, the wound on her head thudding incessantly.
Nothing happened. No one came. The cabin sat silently in the mountains, as still as an unoccupied retreat suspended between seasons. Gradually Loreena let her arm slump until it rested on her knee. Her shoulder burned from the effort of holding it aloft. She couldn’t stop trembling, but her breathing slowed, her tapping becoming more intermittent, until her mind calmed enough that she could focus.
Breath. Someone was breathing. Someone was there, but he wasn’t moving. Was he waiting? Watching her? She drew her knees into her chest. Surely, she had made enough noise to wake him, and now he was playing a game of cat and mouse, awaiting her next move.
The night crawled on, and still nothing happened. Her back pressed against the wall, she felt her muscles relax. It had been a long time since Frank had locked her in, and she was still unharmed. With a calmer mind, she thought maybe the man in the room was not well. His breath sounded faint, sometimes ragged. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t done anything since she arrived. He must be asleep. Trembling, soaked with sweat, she forced herself to her feet. With one hand she touched the door, feeling the cold steel of the locks, each made of heavy metal.
There was no way she was getting out.
At least whoever was here was here against his will, as the locks were holding him in as well as her. Still, she was in no hurry to wake him up, so she reached to her right and left for somewhere more comfortable to pass the rest of the night. One hand touched only air, but the other fell on the back of a chair. Exploring it with her hands, she determined it was a rocking chair with a cane seat and tall, curved legs. Holding her breath, she pulled it, inch by quiet inch, until it rested parallel to the door, so she could rock without hitting the wall behind her. Once it was in place, she sat down, her body eager for rest. But something lay bunched up underneath her. She picked it up, intending to drape it over the back. By habit her hands explored it first, fingers touching an outer shell of cotton, then an inner quilted lining. She brought it up to her nose.
Pine.
Clenching her fists around the material, she inhaled the scent again. But of course, they were in the mountains. A pine scent wouldn’t be unusual. Still, it had its own unique tang, something that made her want to bury her head in the collar. She brought it to her nose again.
Her skin lifted off her bones. The jacket fell from her hands.
The walls seemed to move in, the room s
hrinking around her. Her senses sharpened and focused on the sleeping man. She got up and moved forward, cautious lest the floor creak under her steps. Hands out, she grasped the corner of the footboard and waited, listening. The breathing continued, labored as if drawn over the tongue of an open mouth. She hesitated, unsure what to do next. A jacket was just a jacket. One of Frank’s goons could have brought it here. The man in the bed could be anyone. It wouldn’t be wise to wake him up.
She stepped forward again until she could touch the foot of the mattress. Her fingers twisted in the sheet. The bed seemed to have no blankets. After a moment she realized she’d been holding her breath and exhaled, drawing her hands back. The stench flooded her sinuses, but she thought less of it now, focused on the figure in the bed, trying to hear something, anything that would betray his identity.
Silence. A slow inhale and exhale. In the distance, an owl hooted. Finally. The sound gave her hope. It seemed the first natural thing she had heard in weeks, since the robin by the roadside. Everything else rested soundly. Alternately afraid and desperately hopeful, she waited, listening to the breath, telling herself she should say something, speak to the man, but she could do nothing but stand there, clutching the fabric of her own jacket.
At long last, the figure stirred.
Loreena started and took a step back. She had almost fallen asleep on her feet.
The man turned. Groaned.
The tone of voice. The church. That day long ago, when she had finished playing, and he had spoken to her.
“Dominic?” she said, her voice a whisper. It wasn’t Dominic. Dominic was dead. Whoever was in the bed was one of Frank’s thugs, or one of his prisoners, and she was an idiot for standing there alone, unarmed, so close. An idiot.
She waited.
The man groaned again. And then: “Loreena?”
She grasped the footboard to keep herself upright. The silence was so deafening she couldn’t be sure she had heard a voice at all.
The man turned toward her. “Is that you?”
Caving inward, grasping her ribs, Loreena crumbled toward the bed as sobs shook her body.
The man sat up, sheets falling off him with a gentle sigh. Then, the sound of chains, metal on metal. “Loreena?”
On the bed now, she sought his body. Scrambling with her hands, she finally found his head. His head. It was his head! The hair was matted to his scalp, in desperate need of a wash, but it was the same hair she had seen so long ago in the dark tunnel, the thick waves catching her gloved fingers in tangles, extending down over his neck and ears. And then there was his face, the nose and forehead scabbed with old wounds, cheeks and chin covered with a new beard. She sobbed as she continued to touch him, brushing his skin, squeezing to feel the realness of him, and then she felt the ragged T-shirt he wore, threadbare and clinging to bony shoulders, and as she continued down his arms, she found the cuffs around his wrists, his skin raw from old sores. Trailing from the cuffs, heavy chains held him to the bed.
“Loreena?” His voice cracked. “Is this real?”
Moving her hands back to his shoulders, his neck, his face, she touched him over and over again, afraid any minute he would fade away and be gone forever, that this was some sort of torturous dream, and at the same time realizing with every touch that he was real, that this was real, and they had kept him there, in chains, most likely since the bar in Kelley, and he had lost weight, and been hurt, and suffered who knew what else, and she cried for him and for her, but most of all she cried because he was here, alive. Somehow, she hadn’t killed him.
“Dominic!”
He embraced her, the chains rattling, and she sank into his chest, her head next to his, and wrapped her arms around him, holding gently, her hands caressing the back of his head. His body smelled sour, like he hadn’t showered in weeks, but she couldn’t bear to move away from him, and sat holding him while he ducked his face into the crook of her neck, his tears wetting her hair.
“How?” He choked, and then, “How did you get here?”
She stroked his cheeks, and slowly a broad smile creased her face. “Dominic.” She laughed quietly, then held his face in her hands and touched her forehead to his.
He tried to bring his hand around to return the touch, but the chain stopped him. “Are you all right?” he whispered, his voice rough.
“I’m okay. Do you have water?”
He shook his head. “Unless the door is open?”
“No.”
“He locked you in here, too?” When she didn’t answer, he jerked against the chains. “Bastard!”
“Shhh.” She held his arms down to silence him. “Please. Don’t wake him up.”
“He’s here?”
Loreena turned toward the door. “He brought me here.”
“Raymond?”
“Raymond? No, Frank.”
“Frank!” Dominic grew more agitated. “He’s been holding you all this time?”
“At Raymond’s mother’s house. Was Raymond the one who brought you here?”
Dominic nodded. “And put these on.” He lifted the chains. “After I tried to get away.”
Loreena helped him sit up against the headboard and drew the sheet up around his waist. She withdrew to get his jacket, as she had yet to find any blankets, but he grabbed her arm before she could get away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “Just getting your jacket.”
He clung to her.
She gave up on the jacket and sat by his side, their arms intertwined. A part of her longed to find a window, to bring in some fresh air, but it could wait. Right now he was warm. Gentle. And alive.
Alive!
Wrapping her arms around him, she tried not to think of what would come the next day. There was only one reason Frank had kept Dominic here, in this cabin, where he went to escape his pursuers. Dominic was his final bargaining chip. In case something happened to Saul, she realized. But Saul had gotten away. She had turned the van in time. Perhaps the FBI had him now. Either way, he was no longer under Frank’s control. Frank had planned for this, too. He knew she would do anything to save Dominic, even kill again.
Leaning back against the headboard, she gave in to her exhaustion, surrendering her spirit to whatever would come.
Frank was right. She would do anything to save Dominic now.
Anything.
16
Loreena awoke to a lighter shadow in the room. It had to be morning. She could feel the warmth of the sun streaming in. The smell of human waste flooded her sinuses, and together with her empty stomach made her instantly nauseated. She sat up and took two breaths through her hand, smelling her own skin oils and sweat, and then felt beside her.
Dominic lay on his back, warm, breathing. It hadn’t been a dream. He was still there, still alive. She leaned down and pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to his heart beating slowly but steadily, his lungs rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. The urge to urinate was strong, and she knew she was going to have to do something about it, but at that moment, she wanted only to touch him, to remind herself he was still alive, to feel again the relief that came over her as she realized the truth of it. She hadn’t killed him. Whether because they had fought it together, or because they’d been torn apart before they’d gone all the way, or for some other reason, it didn’t matter. He was alive, and that meant this day would be different.
Easing herself off the bed so she wouldn’t wake him, she felt around carefully, looking for what Dominic might have been using as a toilet all this time. The only other piece of furniture was a four-drawer wooden dresser that stood against the far wall. Nothing sat on top of it but a single lamp, and that was unplugged. The drawers were empty. To her right, a short hanging rod held six wire hangers, all devoid of any clothing. A wooden board sat on top like a shelf, but it was empty, too. Right hand on the wall, Loreena walked until she could feel the glass of the window, but it was like those in Mrs. Markos’s house, flat and solid with no division th
at would allow it to be opened. Only about two feet wide and three feet high, it would prove a challenge to get through it, even if she could break the glass.
Moving on, she walked half-crouched to the other corner, feeling along the floor and over the space in front of her, and though she was careful, her toe still bumped into something metal and it splashed. She knew instantly what it was and cringed, withdrawing her shoe and shaking off the urine she imagined had spilled on it. This was where the pots were. It took a moment for her to get over her squeamishness, but her bladder was insistent. Tapping carefully, she found one that seemed like it could hold what she had in her, and then waited another painful minute to be sure Dominic was still breathing heavily. When her ears confirmed it, she dropped her pants and squatted, relief flooding her body as her bladder finally let go. Finished, she redressed and stood up.
Dominic’s steady breathing had stopped. “Loreena?”
She hurried back to him and slid onto the bed. “I’m here.”
He touched her face and hair, and then braced himself on his other hand. “We have to find a way out of here.”
“I know.”
“What’s going on? Why did Frank bring you here?”
“He’s in trouble. The FBI came last night, surrounded them. Frank got away, but I think a lot of his men were caught.”
“The FBI?”
Loreena nodded and thought of Shawn, wondering if he would be looking for them now. She couldn’t imagine he would stop until he had Frank in custody, but she had no idea how long it would take him to track them down. From what she knew of Frank, he wouldn’t put up with this situation for more than a day or two, and then they would either be moving on with him or they would be dead.
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