“Yes, I think so too.”
“At least we know his date of birth,” McShane said, taking back the paper.
“Not very much, is it?”
“No, but it’s something.”
He drank more tea and finished his cake.
“What does your wife think about your working so long and so late? I imagine it’s difficult for her.”
“Very,” he said. “We’re at the beginning of a divorce.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I think,” he said.
“You’re not sure?”
“My wife told me I don’t believe in anything enough. I suppose that goes for my marriage too.”
“You’re not religious?”
“Hardly. Can’t remember the last time I went to church. Oh, yeah, I do: to get married,” he said. He smiled but she didn’t.
“If you don’t believe in anything, you can’t believe in yourself,” Miriam said. He thought for a moment and nodded.
“Funny,” he said, gazing around. “Here we are, dealing with people who are fanatical about their beliefs to the point where they’re willing to die or kill others to sustain them, and here I am, investigating these people, and I’m accused of believing in nothing.”
“Maybe that’s the sort of a person it takes,” Miriam said, smiling. “It’s all very simple for you.
“But afterward, Detective, when you have your quiet moment, you will have to turn to something. If you have no marriage, if you have no faith, what will you turn to?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“How do you feel about that?”
He thought a moment.
“A little scared,” he admitted.
“Good,” she said. He tilted his head, confused. “It’s because of fear that we have so great a need for faith. I’m sure,” she added, her eyes down, “my poor sister is having similar thoughts right now, wherever she is being held prisoner.”
He nodded.
“Come back after you have rescued her,” Miriam said, “and argue with my father. He’ll get you to believe in something.”
McShane laughed. “I might just do that.”
“Good,” she said. She fixed those penetrating eyes on him and he felt warm and comfortable. “A little tired?”
“Huh?”
“The tea?”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks,” he said. “I’d better get going. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“I imagine so,” she said. She followed him to the door.
“Thanks again for the tea. And the rug…”
“Rugelah,” she said, laughing.
“Right. Good night.”
He stepped out and down the stairs. He turned at the car and looked back at her.
After you rescue my sister, she had said.
He’d like to be able to do that, he thought, if it wasn’t already too late.
24
Anna’s eyes were still open when she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door. Her heart pounded in anticipation of what she was about to attempt. She had the chain down on the left side of her body, her hand under the blanket, clutching the heavy links. All she had to do was give the chain a good tug and it would come flying out of the wall, enabling her to move freely and get out of the room.
For the remainder of the night, she had gone over and over the escape, replayed the scene in her mind, studying it carefully. She choreographed her every movement and considered options, complications. She realized she would never again have the confidence she had now. She had to succeed; it had to work just as she had designed it in her imagination.
When Anna heard the key being inserted into the lock, her fingers tightened on the chain. The door swung open and the woman appeared, breakfast tray in hand. She was dressed in a robe and slippers and looked half asleep herself. That was good, Anna thought: She was not alert.
As the woman entered the room Anna turned her head slightly. Ironically the iron box over her head now served as an aid: It hid her eyes from the woman, so the woman couldn’t see that Anna was fully awake. She gazed quickly at Anna and moved toward the table to put down the tray. The moment she turned away from the bed, Anna jerked the chain. It flew up from the wall, sounding like a bullet when it snapped in the air.
Surprised, shocked, the woman froze with her mouth open and stared at the chain as though it were alive. Anna swung her feet over the bed and charged forward, her head down, the metal box like a ramrod, and struck the woman as she was turning, hitting her on her left side, just under her ribs.
The tray sailed over the woman’s head to crash on the table, dishes, cup, and glass cascading over the edge, and the woman, taken completely by surprise, followed, falling backward, hitting the table, and toppling over the right side of it to the floor. The table turned over and fell on her.
She howled.
Anna yanked in the chain frantically until it was bunched in her hands and ran toward the door. Recovering her wits, the woman crawled to her feet and lunged, grabbing Anna at her shoulders just as she made it to the doorway.
Anna was screaming too now. She had become a clawing, desperate animal battling for survival. She tried to push the woman off with her right hand, but the woman then took hold of the metal box and used her leverage to drag Anna back from the door.
“No! You can’t leave; you can’t take my baby away!”
Anna swung her left hand, which clutched the chain. Most of it was gathered in something of a ball, the remainder of it dangling like a whip. She struck the woman with it on the side of the head and it stunned her and sliced her skin, driving her back. The blood flowed down the side of her face.
“My baby!” she moaned, tears in her eyes. She felt the side of her head and saw the blood on her fingers. It froze her for the moment. “Daddy!” she cried.
Terrified that the man would soon appear, Anna didn’t hesitate. She turned and rushed out the door, still clutching the chain in her left hand.
The fieldstone basement had only a naked light-bulb dangling at the bottom of the wooden stairway, but there was enough illumination to show her the avenues of escape. Anna moved quickly to the door she recalled led to the cement steps; however, it was as she had feared: locked.
When the woman appeared in the bedroom doorway behind her, Anna rushed to the stairs and climbed as quickly as she could, her bare feet pounding down on the old wooden steps. She’d get past the man too, if he was there, she told herself. The woman swung around the base of the stairway to charge up after her. Anna got to the door and opened it, stepping into a narrow hallway.
She wasn’t sure whether she should go right or left, but she knew it was only a matter of seconds before the woman would be at her again. Thank God, the man apparently wasn’t there, she thought. Instinctively, Anna turned back to the basement door and opened it just as the woman reached the top of the stairway. She struck the woman again, this time directly at the center of her forehead. Her reappearing like that took the woman by surprise, and she didn’t block the blow. It sent her reeling backward, tripping and falling down the steps, giving Anna the time she desperately needed.
Totally disoriented, Anna rushed to her right, which brought her to the kitchen instead of the front of the house. Fortunately there was a door at the rear. She went out and down a small stairway and turned to her right. The house was apparently surrounded by woods on all sides but one, where there was a rather wide stream. When she came around the corner of the building, she realized what that grinding sound had been. She ran past it toward the front of the house, where she could see a hard, dirt road.
The woman was screaming behind her, still inside.
“My baby! She’s taking my baby! Stop her!”
Oblivious to the small stones and gravel cutting the bottom of her feet, Anna decided to run to her left down the road, hoping to find a neighboring house quickly and get help, but the road seemed to lead deeper and deeper into the woods, with no signs of human habitation.
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She heard the woman produce an ugly, guttural cry and turned to see her pursuing.
“Help me,” Anna whimpered, and continued to sprint ahead, her feet screaming, the metal box on her head quickly becoming heavier and heavier with every step taken. The dirt road eventually came to an end, after which there was just forest.
“Oh, no,” she muttered. She had trapped herself. She saw the woman coming, her hands fisted, her robe open, exposing her nudity. She had somehow lost her slippers in pursuit and she, too, was running barefoot, but she also seemed oblivious to pain.
Rather than face her to do battle again, Anna lunged into the forest. High bushes caught on the nightgown, some branches with thorns cutting through to rip at her thighs, but she didn’t stop. She plowed through them into a clearing and ran harder. Her left foot sank into a hole and she fell forward, slamming hard against the ground. It was as if a knife had been brought to her ankle. For a moment she lost her breath and her equilibrium, but she could hear the crazed woman behind her, tearing through the bushes, screaming, “My baby! My baby!”
Anna pushed herself to her feet and went left between two birch trees, limping to avoid the pain in her ankle. The forest was thicker here and the earth cooler to her feet and not as rocky, but the pain in her right side that emanated from her frantic lungs soaked through her ribs and down to her abdomen. Her lungs felt as if they would burst. Her throat was closing. When she looked down at her feet, she saw they were all bloodied.
After rounding a large old oak, she paused to listen. The woman wasn’t screaming after her anymore. Maybe she had given up, Anna thought. Maybe she was confused and had gone off in the wrong direction. The forest was so quiet; it was as if all life had left it. She peered through the trees on her left and then on her right. There was no sign of her pursuer. It gave her a chance to take some deep breaths. The pain in her ankle subsided. At least it wasn’t broken, she thought.
Slightly revived, she moved slowly, cautiously, as quietly as she could to her left. The ground started to slope upward, but she hoped she could get to a point where she could see her surroundings and know better in which direction she should go. This part of the forest was full of pine. It smelled fresh, clean, and the earth was carpeted with the fallen needles and cones. A squirrel appeared to her right, studied her for a moment, and then scurried to its left and ran up a tree quickly to peer down at her, its nose twitching.
She smiled.
“I’m going to make it,” she muttered. “I’m going to be all right.”
The forest seemed to end abruptly after ten more yards. She was on a rockier slope and could see a precipice just ahead. She hurried up to it to get a good view of the area. There had to be a road nearby, a house—something.
The ground was soft at the edge. Some of it crumbled under her weight and cascaded to the rocks below. She backed up but remained there, studying the woods, and sure enough, she saw a cottage about a half a mile or so to her right.
“Thank God,” she said, and turned to head that way just as the crazed woman, crouching like a Neanderthal, her arms dangling, her hands like claws, came running out of the pine forest. Her voice was caught in a shrill scream of madness and anger.
She, too, had been slashed and scratched by the undergrowth. Her legs were striped with blood, the right sleeve of her robe torn. The blood that had come when Anna had slapped the chain against her temple was caked over her cheek, and the trickle that came from the blow Anna had delivered on the stairway ran down the bridge of the woman’s nose. She resembled some primitive warrior woman painted for battle.
Anna backed up, not sure whether she should go to her right or her left. Every move she made, the woman anticipated and countered, like a collegiate wrestler. She drew closer, her eyes wide.
“You can’t take my baby,” she said in a raspy voice. She smiled. “You’re not going to take my baby.”
Anna lunged to her right and the woman leaped forward. This time she was ready for Anna’s blow and blocked Anna’s left hand so that the bundled chain wouldn’t strike her. At the same time she seized the collar with her left hand and swung Anna around sharply. Anna fell to the ground and the woman kicked her hard in the back. Anna collapsed forward. The woman straddled her. She took hold of the metal box and jerked it up, the metal now cutting into Anna’s throat. Gagging, she reached for the woman’s hands and tried to pull them away, but the woman seemed stronger than ever.
“Get up slowly and start back,” she ordered. She tugged to get Anna to her knees. Anna started to rise. All she could think was that she couldn’t go back, she mustn’t go back. She spun as she rose, screaming madly herself, her right hand balled into a fist, and caught the woman in the throat with her blow. It drove her to the left and she fell. Anna rushed to take advantage of the opportunity and started away, but the woman reached desperately and caught hold of the chain, hauling it back with such force that the collar around Anna’s neck snapped her head and throat, knocking the breath out of her. She was gasping when the woman curled the chain around her hand and held it like a leash.
It’s over, Anna thought, fighting for air. I can’t do it.
“Get to your feet and walk. Do it!”
Anna shook her head.
“I’ll drag you back, then,” she said, and started away. The chain tightened and the collar dug into her throat again. Without choice, Anna crawled on her hands and knees.
“You’re like a dog,” the woman sneered.
Still on her hands and knees, Anna contemplated her for a moment, her rage building from the base of her stomach into her chest. With her last vestige of self-respect and dignity coming to the fore, her last-ditch hope to live emerging, she gathered one more surge of strength and, still on her hands and knees, charged again at the woman like a defensive tackle, this time striking her with the metal box just under her knees. She fell backward, and the edge of the precipice, which was only a soft block of earth, gave way. The woman sank quickly through it and began to fall.
She screamed. The earth continued to crumble faster with her clumsy effort to prevent herself from going over, and then after a moment she was gone.
But she hadn’t let go of the chain. It snapped in the air and pulled the collar, driving Anna down and toward the same fatal edge. She grabbed it with both her hands and tried to alleviate the pressure by pulling back on it. She was suddenly in the ironic position of either saving the woman by getting her back up, choking to death, or following her over the edge.
She didn’t have the strength to haul the woman back up. The woman’s weight dragged Anna forward until she was looking over the precipice. The woman dangled below. It was only about a hundred and fifty feet to the bottom, but the bottom was all jagged rock. Anna struggled to find something to stop her from sliding. There was just a small tree, barely a sapling. She seized it, and for a moment it held.
Anna could see that the woman’s hands were all bloodied, yet she still managed to clutch the chain. The sapling was being torn out of the earth.
“Let go!” Anna screamed down at her. “Or you’ll kill the baby!”
The madness evaporated from the woman’s face. She gazed up thoughtfully for a moment, and then released her grip on the chain.
She fell without a scream and bounced hard on the rocks below, bouncing from one edge to another, her body snapping and twisting until it came to a stop over some large rocks. She didn’t move, didn’t twitch.
Anna closed her eyes and then rose to her knees, drawing the chain back. When she had it bundled in her hand, she stood up, wobbled a bit, and then headed down toward the small house she had seen.
But the fatigue and the effort rushed over her with a vengeance. Every step took a greater and greater effort. She stumbled often and tripped once, slamming down hard on some small rocks. They sliced her left arm badly. The pain was excruciating. It took the breath out of her again. She lay there, thinking maybe she would just sleep a few moments, rest, and gather some strength, but so
mething moved in the bushes behind her and she had the horrid vision of that woman, battered and bleeding, still coming after her.
She struggled to her feet once again, and once again she plodded along, moving down the wooded slope. Before she reached the clearing she had seen from the distance, a long, sharp pain cut across her abdomen. It resembled a kick in the stomach. She crouched over, aching, moaning.
“Help,” she muttered. “Someone, help me, please.”
Only able to take short, slow steps now, it seemed to take ages for her to emerge from the woods. She felt the warm trickle of blood down the inside of her thighs.
“Oh, God, no,” she said. She put all her remaining strength into a few more steps, which brought her to the clearing, and then she fell forward, passing out before she hit the grass, never hearing the yapping golden retriever that had raised its head and leaped off the swinging seat on the porch of the small cottage.
25
McShane decided that immediately after breakfast he would take another ride to the house belonging to the couple Royce claimed wanted Anna Gold’s unborn baby. Perhaps he would be able to tell more, see more in daylight. He had just sat in a booth at the diner and opened the menu when his beeper went off. He had to call in to the station.
“Where are you?” Mark Ganner asked.
“Diner. Why?”
“You got to get to Mountaindale, the Sandburg Creek road, a place belonging to a John Allan. Paramedics are on their way.”
“To what?”
“This is bizarre. This John Allan claims his dog found a woman in the field near the house a little while ago.”
“Dead?”
“Not dead, but in bad shape, lots of blood, but that’s not the weird part.”
“What?”
“She has a collar around her neck with a chain and, according to Allan, a metal box locked over her head with holes for eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.”
“I’m on my way,” McShane said, and hurried out to his car. He swung onto the Quickway and slapped on his bubble light. He took the Rock Hill exit, hitting ninety-five along the way, and drove toward Glen Wild and a side road he knew led into Mountaindale. The way he drove, it was fortunate the tourist season had ended and it was early in the morning. He took turns on the wrong side of the road and drove about twenty miles past the sensible speed for a twisted back highway peppered with potholes. A few times he almost lost control and went into a ditch.
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