by Julie Cannon
Kelly didn’t look back when the screaming stopped and didn’t look up when The Colonel reached for her.
Chapter Eight
It was dark, very dark, and Barrett couldn’t breathe. She tried to move, but her feet were wedged against something hard. The same was true for her elbows and the top of her head. She was completely disoriented. She couldn’t see anything but touched everything around her and was able to figure out she was in some kind of a wooden box smaller than she was. Thinking she was buried alive, she started to panic.
She clawed and pounded at the wood in front of her face. It was solid and didn’t give at all. She kicked, but with her body so tightly jammed into the space she didn’t have any force behind her efforts. She gasped for air, dizzy, and thought her heart would pound out of her chest. She had to get out. Everything was closing in on her, and her body’s fight-or-flight reflex had kicked in full-force.
She tried to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. It was as if she’d gone blind and mute. That thought raised her level of panic, and she fought harder against her coffin. She heard a snap and then an excruciating pain in her left hand, but not enough to stop her from flailing to escape.
Barrett didn’t know if it was minutes, hours, or days when she finally collapsed in exhaustion. Every bone and muscle in her body ached, but her mind refused to shut down. She gulped down another wave of panic and forced herself to think of anything except where she was and the pain in her hand. She remembered what Kelly said about going away to somewhere else.
She thought of her house. It was her dream house that she’d designed herself and painstakingly put together over the course of three years. Someone else had done most of the actual work, but she had put in hundreds of hours of sweat in the place as well. She calmed as she pictured the view out her living-room window.
Barrett lived just north of San Francisco in a little town called Princetown. The small town—quaint, with a few tourist shops, restaurants, and boat-rental places—was nothing special, but it was home.
Her house sat on an acre of pristine beachfront property, the Pacific Ocean her backyard. It was all glass and chrome and absolutely stunning. She’d immediately fallen in love with the floor plan when her architect presented it to her. On the ground floor the master suite was separated from an office and two other bedrooms by the kitchen, dining room, and laundry. The interior was bright, decorated in sleek modern lines that matched the frame of the house. Fifteen feet separated the ceilings from the floor, giving the room additional height that added to the open feeling. She could see the ocean from every room and access it from the ground floor.
Barrett imagined the feel of the breeze and the smell of the ocean when she opened the French doors leading out to the patio. Down a small flight of steps and she stood on the soft, white sand, mere feet from the rolling waves.
In her mind she walked through every room, looked in every closet, and opened every door. She itemized what was in her kitchen cabinets and her garage and rearranged the deck chairs around the pool. She polished the handrails on the stairs, dusted the blinds on the windows, swept the front porch, and rebuilt the back deck board by board.
When she opened her eyes, she detected a sliver of light coming from somewhere around her knees. She focused on it and slowly it grew brighter. At the same time the familiar sounds of the camp coming to life drifted in. Morning! It must be morning! This time when her heart began to race, it wasn’t due to panic but anticipation that she would be released soon.
*
Kelly was already awake when the first shafts of the new day lightened the sky. She hadn’t slept all night, worried about Barrett being still in the box for the sixth day.
When she moved about the camp performing her assigned duties she tried to get close to it, but every time she started in that direction one of the guards stopped her. The thought of Barrett’s tall body in that hot, tight space made Kelly dizzy.
Why did she do it? Kelly wondered more times than she could count. Why would an almost-complete stranger risk her life to protect her, especially knowing the consequences? Would she do the same if the roles were reversed?
But it was the isolation that was the hardest. Even though she understood some of what the guards said, days would go by without anyone talking to her. She was left alone for hours, sometimes days at a time with nothing to do and nothing to occupy her mind. She’d learned to pray, meditate, and take her mind anywhere she wanted it to go. It was painful when she came back to the present, but for those few moments, that simple trip somewhere else, she was at peace.
She’d just finished her breakfast when a scuffling sound behind her made her turn around. Her stomach lurched and seemed to stop in her throat. Barrett was between Hercules and Bruce, staggering under the weight of her own footsteps. Kelly scrambled to her feet and then sat back down just as quickly. She wouldn’t have been able to run to Barrett anyway, her tether only fifteen feet long. But she was alive. “Thank you, God,” she muttered.
The two guards walked in front of Kelly, and when they did, Barrett opened her eyes and looked at her. Her eyes were glazed, her skin yellow, and she’d obviously lost weight. She was naked, one of the guard’s favorite forms of torture. Take away your clothes and you’re completely vulnerable. You’re nothing.
Barrett held Kelly’s eyes for as long as she could before the guard’s path took her away from Kelly. In that time Kelly tried to convey to Barrett her strength and reassure her that she was okay.
It wasn’t until two weeks later that she saw Barrett again. She was stacking logs by the fire pit. Kelly inhaled sharply. Barrett was thin and gaunt, and she held her left hand against her chest. Her hair was tangled and limp, her clothes dirty and hanging off her body. Her feet were bare and her pants were torn. Back and forth she went from one pile to another, carefully stacking the wood in neat little rows. When she didn’t move fast enough or stack the wood exactly like her guard wanted it, he slapped her across her back with a switch. She never raised her head or lifted her gaze to see what was around her, her strength sapped, her spirit beaten away.
Finally Kelly was permitted to check on Barrett once each day, under the careful watch of a guard. She didn’t risk more punishment and only asked questions relating to her condition. She hoped the expression in her eyes conveyed her concern and support.
A few days later they were allowed to construct a small shelter, consisting of branches and leaves and held together with a whole lot of prayer. The structure would keep them somewhat sheltered from the fall rains that were coming more frequently now. That night they finally had a chance to talk. They were secured, as usual, to some immovable object but were less than four feet away from each other.
“Barrett,” Kelly whispered after they were alone. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Open your eyes, let me look at them.” Kelly needed to see if they were clear or still hazy.
“In a minute. I’m in a king-size bed on the fifteenth floor of the Ritz, the Arc de Triumph outside my window. Can’t you see the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob?”
Kelly was relieved that Barrett’s head was clear and she hadn’t suffered any significant brain damage due to her time in that box. “Sorry, I don’t speak French.” She closed her eyes and willed herself to imagine the sight. She’d never stayed in any Ritz Hotel, even in the States, let alone been to Paris. “What else do you see?”
“It’s lit up like a Christmas tree with twinkling lights.” She chuckled. “But I doubt the French would appreciate the reference.”
Kelly smiled. “Probably not. What else?” she asked, both to help herself go there in her head and because she liked the sound of Barrett’s voice.
“It’s a mild night and the window’s open. There’s a breeze blowing the curtains a little, and the sky’s clear. I hear the traffic but not too much. You know how it is in Paris, drivers honking their horns and cussing each other. They use both hands as a co
mmunication tool when they really should be on the steering wheel.”
Kelly’s eyes were closed, but she heard the smile in Barrett’s voice. “Why are you there?”
“Business. It’s always business.”
This time she heard resignation in Barrett’s statement. “Have you ever gone there for pleasure?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I work.”
Kelly thought that an odd answer but was reluctant to dislodge their virtual fantasy. “What are you thinking about as you look at the Arc?”
“That I was lucky I got out of the bed of the woman I’d spent a few hours with without her waking up.”
Kelly wasn’t surprised at Barrett’s comment. She knew Barrett was a lesbian, and even though she didn’t play for that team, it didn’t bother her. “Do you do that often?” Kelly opened her eyes wanting to see Barrett’s face as she answered.
“What? Sleep with women? As often as I can.”
“No, sneak out,” Kelly asked, seemingly unflushed by her comment.
“I don’t invite a woman to my room,” Barrett said, matter-of-factly.
“So you can escape?”
“Yep.” Barrett didn’t even hesitate.
“Escape doesn’t sound like a word that should be used after spending the night with someone. Unless it wasn’t a very good time.”
“It was fine. I just don’t do morning-afters.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“So what else do you see outside your window?” Kelly asked, suddenly uncomfortable with a conversation about Barrett’s sex life.
But Barrett was already asleep.
Chapter Nine
Two weeks later The Colonel approached Barrett. “Stand up,” he commanded her.
She took her time and eventually was almost eye-to-eye with him. He tossed a rolled-up newspaper at her, and Barrett caught it with her good hand just before it fell to the ground.
“Open it.”
She did and saw it was in Spanish. “What do you want me to do, read it to you?”
The Colonel’s eyes blazed with fury, and he took a step toward her. He was so close Barrett felt his breath on her face. He smelled like Old Spice.
“Hold it up,” he barked. “Under your chin facing out.”
He stepped back, and as she did she was able to read the date. November the twelfth. Oh my God, she’d been captive for four months. Trying not to give away the fact that she could read Spanish, she did as she was told and looked back at him, noticing the camera in his hand. He took several pictures, then stepped closer and backhanded her hard across her face. She staggered back several feet, grasping the paper as if it were a lifeline. She tasted blood.
The Colonel took one more picture, tore the paper from her hands, then walked away.
Barrett’s legs finally gave way and she slid to the ground, a piece of the paper still in her hand. “What the fuck was that?” she asked through her already-swelling lip.
“Proof of life.”
“What does that mean?”
“Proof of life. The picture shows you’re still alive on the date of the paper. They’ll release it somehow, and it’ll get back to your family or whoever will be doing the negotiating for you.”
Negotiating for me. The words rang in Barrett’s ears. Or was it The Colonel’s backhand? It made her sound like a piece of property, and she said as much to Kelly.
“But that’s what you are. They own you and will sell you to the highest bidder.”
“Jesus, Kelly, thanks for the words of encouragement.” Her head was starting to pound and she felt nauseous.
“You know what, Barrett? You need to get over yourself. You’re not the only one here, you know. We’ve all been here much longer than you and suffered a lot more than you have, and we aren’t wallowing in self-pity. It’s not all about you.”
Kelly’s words surprised Barrett. They’d come out of nowhere, but she was smart enough to know to keep her mouth shut this time.
The weeks dragged by and Barrett was bored out of her mind. She was used to being in constant motion, either attending meetings, negotiating deals, or reading research her staff had pulled together. Nothing had prepared her for hours upon hours with absolutely nothing to do. The only difference between today, yesterday, and eighteen days ago was who had the latest bout of malaria, foot fungus, or a variety of other debilitating parasitical diseases. Her hand hadn’t healed correctly and hurt like hell. With limited medical supplies, whatever ailment one of them had, it was just a matter of time before they all did.
The mosquitoes were the worst. Nothing held them at bay, and they had no protection from the constant bites from the little bastards. Barrett had a harsh reaction and was often unable to stop scratching. She’d have scars if and when she got out of here.
Conversation with the hostages was limited, but they were able to play cards. Kelly had managed to create a complete deck of cards out of discarded cigarette boxes. Little Boy had given her a pen, and she’d meticulously inked in the number and suits of every card in the deck. She even went so far as to draw kings, queens, and jacks in minute detail.
Barrett studied Kelly across the game. She held her cards as if they were the winning lottery tickets, the look of concentration and ruthlessness on her face one Barrett didn’t see often.
Over the months she’d found Kelly to be the most concerned, caring person she’d ever met. It was obvious that she cared more about their fellow hostages than she did about herself. On more than one occasion Barrett saw her slip a portion or all of her meal to one of them that needed it more. When she had the chance to sleep under a canopy, she put it over someone else. She sacrificed her own much-needed sleep to watch over someone with a fever.
Why would anyone do that? Through careful planning, bold moves, and seizing opportunities, she’d built a life that she controlled and would never give up. But wasn’t that true for most people? Their safe, carefully constructed lives kept them away from the seedier side of life. But people like Kelly and the organization that she worked with voluntarily ventured into this other life. She couldn’t understand how they could risk everything—for what? For Barrett nothing was worth it.
“Barrett?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. What did you say?” Kelly looked at her expectantly.
“I said it’s your turn.”
“Oh yeah, right,” Barrett replied, and dragged her focus back to the game in front of her.
Opie and Kong stepped into their circle and motioned for her to follow them. “Deal me out, fellas,” Barrett quipped, and laid the makeshift cards on the ground.
Barrett followed Kong across the camp with Opie trailing behind them. When it became clear they were headed for The Colonel’s tent, Barrett tensed.
“Colonel,” Opie called out in Spanish.
“Enter.” Opie lifted the flap and shoved Barrett inside.
It was dark inside the tent, the dark fabric designed to conceal from a distance. Barrett blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the low light.
“Sit,” The Colonel commanded her, and pointed to the floor.
He fiddled with something on a box near them, and Barrett recognized it as a shortwave radio. What the hell? He shoved the microphone in front of Barrett’s mouth.
“You will be asked four questions that only you know the answer to. Answer only the question and nothing more. If you do anything other than exactly what I say, Miss Ryan will be punished. Do you understand?”
Barrett nodded. “This is Barrett Taylor.” The radio crackled a few seconds before she heard a voice.
“Ms. Taylor, you don’t know me but I’m Robert Graves, and I represent your family. To verify my identity and that I’m on your side I am going to say two things that only you and your family know. First, when you were eight you left a note for the tooth fairy apologizing to her that you accidentally swallowed your tooth and didn’t have it to put under your pillow. S
econd, when you were thirteen you would sit in your bedroom and pretend you were an executive. You drew numbers on the shoebox that you used as a telephone. Ms. Taylor,” the radio crackled, “do you understand what I said?”
The Colonel pushed the key on the side of the microphone and nodded to her to speak.
“Yes.” Her voice quivered. What in the hell was going on here? Who was this guy on the other end of the line? Her lifeline.
“I have four questions to ask you.” The Colonel nodded again.
“Okay, go ahead.” This must be another proof-of-life exercise. This guy, what was his name again, Graves? He must be the one negotiating her release, and he had to establish that it actually was her on the radio and not someone else pretending to be her. She would be rescued soon!
“Number one. What did you and your best friend do on the sidewalk in front of your house?”
“We had a lemonade stand.” She could see herself and Suzy sitting patiently behind a card table with a pitcher of lemonade her mother had made for them.
“Number two. What did you and your brother do on the way to school that if your parents ever found out you would be in trouble for?”
“We crossed 43rd Avenue in the middle of the street instead of going down to the light and the crosswalk.” She still had dreams about not being able to get across that street.
“Number three. What happened on a rainy afternoon that made your mother call your teacher?”
“I dropped a report I’d been working on in the water and it got ruined.” She remembered being so distraught that she’d cried in her mother’s arms.
“Number four. What did your family occasionally do on Sunday afternoons?”
“We went to the airport, to the roof of the terminal, and watched the planes take off and land.”
“Thank you, Miss Taylor. Your family sends their love and—”
The Colonel turned off the radio and stared at her with cold, calculating eyes. “If you said anything that would lead them to us, I will know, and Miss Ryan will pay the price.”