Dead Letter

by Byars, Betsy

  “This had to be the room. In the note she said there was no window, and she couldn’t tell night from day. When you closed the door on me, I couldn’t either.

  “I think I know how it happened,” Herculeah went on in a normal tone of voice, though inwardly she yelled for Meat, her mother, her father, a workman, somebody, anybody to come.

  “Your aunt slept there.” She glanced toward the dismantled cot. “You drugged her, kept her prisoner here until she signed.... What did she sign?”

  “You know everything,” Roger Cole said. He was not smiling now. “You tell me.”

  Herculeah’s look was thoughtful as she remembered the note. “You kept her prisoner until she signed some papers.” A light came into her gray eyes. “Until she signed the papers allowing you to have the land. That’s it, isn’t it? You wanted to develop the property and she didn’t.

  “The girl knows too much,” the man murmured to Roger Cole. Roger Cole seemed to agree.

  “You wanted to chop up her land and put houses on it. She wouldn’t have that, would she? She loved this place, loved the flowers, the trees, loved to ride the trails.”

  “How do you know so much about her?”

  “We’re a lot alike.”

  “Same size, anyway. You’re more of a fighter.”

  “She might have been, too, if she hadn’t been drugged.” She gave him a scornful look. “And all the while you were putting on the big pretense of being the loving nephew. You took her meals up, you did everything for her. And all the while she was alone, a prisoner out here in this terrible room.”

  “And if you are right? It doesn’t really make any difference. You aren’t going anywhere. Suppose I did keep her prisoner, you have no proof.”

  “There may be proof right here.” Herculeah looked around her. “I think you killed her here. She was too weak to get on a horse. You-” Instinctively her eyes shifted from Roger Cole to the watchman. She knew now that it was the watchman who had killed and Roger Cole who had directed it. “You killed her here, saddled the horse, led it down the trail to a likely spot, dumped the body, and let the horse go free.”

  “She knows too much,” the watchman said again.

  “I agree, but-”

  At that moment Herculeah heard the most wonderful sound she had ever heard in her life: an earsplit ting, head-bursting whistle.

  Only Meat could whistle like that.

  The two men turned their heads in the direction of the whistle. That was Herculeah’s moment.

  She threw the headboard at Roger Cole with all her strength. It knocked him backward. At the same time she screamed, “Get away from me! Get away!”

  She hoped the two men would think she was talking to them.

  Actually her warning was to Meat. If he came down here, they’d both end up victims of Brute.

  The watchman moved swiftly. He stepped around Roger Cole, and in a second slammed Herculeah against the inside wall of the stable. It knocked the breath out of her. She saw stars.

  “Brute!” he yelled.

  Brute came.

  “Guard!”

  Brute was in front of her now, his face so close Herculeah’s heart leapt with fear.

  “If you move, he’ll kill you.”

  Her mind, shocked into a stupor, barely took in the words.

  He repeated them.

  “If you move, he’ll kill you.”

  Herculeah blinked her eyes.

  “If you call out, he’ll kill you.”

  The man watched for a moment, making sure she had taken in his meaning. Then he shut the door. Herculeah heard the sound of a key in the lock. She was left in darkness with only the terrible sound of Brute’s eager breathing.

  And as the men walked away, the watchman said, “And if he don‘t, I will.”

  24

  BRUTE FORCE

  Meat heard Herculeah’s cry.

  “Get away from me! Get away!”

  He heard the desperation in her voice, and his heart pounded. He knew that Herculeah was in some sort of terrible danger and that he would be in danger if he went closer.

  He stood for a moment where he was, in the shadow of the elm trees. His knees had begun to shake, and he leaned against the tree for support.

  Meat had come to Elm Street directly from the dentist’s office. First he had borrowed the dentist’s phone and called Herculeah’s home. He had had a brief, unsatisfactory conversation with Herculeah’s mom.

  “Is Herculeah there?” he’d asked.

  “No, Meat, where is she?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I called to find out. Did she come home after school?”

  “Where is she?”

  There was a pause, then she reworded the question. “Meat, where do you think she is?”

  “I don’t know. At the stables.”

  “What stables?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “What stables, Meat?”

  Now Herculeah’s mother was yelling at him. Even the patients sitting across the room heard her.

  “Maybe Elm Street. But I don’t know for sure. That’s just a maybe.”

  Mrs. Jones must have found the conversation as frustrating as he did because at that point she slammed down the phone.

  The patients heard that, too, and nobody looked at him as he made his way from the office.

  Now Meat twisted his hands in indecision. He knew Herculeah had come to danger, as he had feared, in the stable. Why, why hadn’t he called Lieutenant Jones? That’s who he should have called—not Mrs. Jones, who served subpoenas and found kidnapped dogs. And if he left to call him now, Herculeah might be gone when he got back.

  Meat ran to the street where the workmen were knocking off for the day. Meat always felt inferior around construction workers, even though he was as big as some of them.

  He approached a tall man in jeans and a backward Braves cap who was, getting into his truck. Only his desperation for Herculeah gave him the courage to say, “Excuse me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I thought I heard some cries for help back in the woods—down by the stable. It sounded like a girl I know. Would you mind—Would it be too much trouble—Could you possibly—”

  “Want me to take a look? Sure. Hey, Sam, let’s check this out,” he called to a fellow workman. “This kid heard some cries for help.”

  “Right, Cobby.”

  Meat felt a lot better about approaching the stable now that he was flanked by Sam and Cobby.

  “The cry came from back here,” he said, pointing the way to the stable.

  As they got closer, Meat’s alarm grew. The stable looked deserted.

  “That’s funny,” Meat said. “There were two men standing here.”

  “Door’s padlocked,” Sam said.

  “Herculeah? Herculeah!”

  No answer.

  “That’s the name of the girl I heard yelling for help.”

  “With a name like that, she ought to be able to take care of herself.”

  “Usually she can. Herculeah!”

  Again there was no answer.

  The workmen walked slowly around the stable. At the back, they called, “Hey, anybody here? Hello!”

  Slowly they returned to where Meat was standing by the door.

  “Kid, we don’t hear a thing.”

  “But I really did hear a cry for help,” Meat said. “I did. I promise.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like help’s needed now.”

  The men turned to go.

  “Wait,” Meat said. “There’s somebody inside. Put your ear against the door. You can hear breathing.”

  “I’ll check. Anybody in there?” Cobby called. “You need help in there?”

  “Maybe she’s unconscious and can’t answer. Maybe she’s tied up or gagged. Maybe—”

  Cobby raised one hand to cut him off. He put his head against the door.

  “Yeah, I hear something, all right.”

  “Breathing?” Meat asked.
<
br />   “It’s more like a low rumbling. Growling—something like that. Check it out, Sam.”

  Sam put his head against the door.

  “There’s a dog in there. That’s a growling dog.” He stepped back. “We can’t open that door. That’s an attack dog. I’ve seen him with the watchman—big, strong Doberman. Teeth like a crocodile.”

  “If you’ll break the door down, I’ll help,” Meat offered.

  “Kid, you haven’t seen this dog.”

  “I’ve seen dogs before.”

  “Not like this.”

  Again the two workers turned away. Meat followed, keeping up with them, saying, “Please! I think my friend may be locked in with the dog. My friend’s in there with that dog. We can’t leave her.”

  “What makes you think your friend’s in there?”

  “That’s where I heard her voice.”

  Meat wiped his hands on his pants. “Listen, will you do me one favor—just one favor?”

  Cobby held up both hands. “I don’t want anything to do with that dog.”

  “Me either,” Sam said. “I mean, this is an attack dog, kid. Attack dogs go for the throat. They don’t shake your pants leg like the average ticked-off dog.”

  “I know that.”

  “I am not taking on any dog,” Cobby said forcefully. “That’s final.”

  “You won’t have to.”

  Meat eyed the tools on Sam’s belt. “I just want you to take that hammer and smash the lock. Then you can go on, and I’ll take the blame. I’d do it myself if I could.”

  Sam came forward. “Just break the lock, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you won’t open the door till me and Cobby are ten miles up the road?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam pulled a hammer from his belt. “I want to get one thing straight, kid. You never saw me and you never saw this hammer.”

  “That’s right.”

  Sam lifted the hammer and in one incredible, well-aimed blow, sent the lock flying. At the noise the dog was at the door, barking fiercely, frantically. His claws dug at the wood.

  Sam said, “It’s all yours, kid.”

  25

  BACK AGAINST THE WALL

  Herculeah could not move. She could not call for help. Her back was to the wall.

  Up until the moment when Sam smashed the lock, the Doberman had been directly in front of her, letting out a low, continuous growl. The room reeked of his breath.

  With the crashing of the lock, the dog had left her and gone to attack the door. Still, Herculeah dared not move or speak. Before Roger Cole and the watchman left they had told her that the dog was trained to attack if she did either.

  Even now, with the whole length of the room between her and the dog, she dared not cry out.

  “Herculeah, I’m out here!” Meat called. He was wiping his hands on his pants. “I’m going to help you.” He dried his hands again. He felt he could dry them for the rest of his life and not get the sweat off.

  He heard footsteps behind him and froze. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He knew the watchman and Roger Cole were back. Now they would throw him into the room with Herculeah and the dog, and he was just the kind of person dogs loved to attack—sweaty and scared and—

  “It’s us again,” a voice said.

  Meat turned and faced Cobby and Sam. He almost crumbled to the ground with relief.

  “Yeah, we never did know when to leave well enough alone.”

  “Thank you,” Meat gasped. It was the most inadequate phrase in the English language. “I mean really thank you.” That still wasn’t good enough.

  “Sam here was mentioning that he noticed some loose boards on the back of the building when he was walking around. He got the idea we could pry one off.”

  “Yeah, the building’s going to be torn down in a week or two anyway.”

  “We get one board off, we can look in. If we don’t see your friend, we nail it back on.”

  “What if we do see her?” Meat asked.

  “We’ll worry about it then, okay? Let’s get going, kid.”

  Meat followed the construction workers around to the back of the stable. To Meat, construction workers were the heroes of the world. If he could have chosen any profession for his missing father, it would have been construction. These weren’t big men, but they had a certain power in their movements that he admired.

  At the back of the stable Sam and Cobby made quick work of the loose boards. But all they could see was the terrible snarling face of Brute that filled the opening.

  “Get out of the way, you,” Cobby said, punching the dog with the handle of his hammer.

  In a movement so quick it took them all by surprise, the Doberman turned his head sideways, snapped at the handle, and pulled the hammer through the hole.

  “Hey, that’s my hammer,” Cobby said.

  “Man, that dog’ll even attack a hammer.”

  The dog dropped the hammer, and his face appeared almost instantly in the opening, but in the second it had taken him to drop the hammer, Meat had seen the pale face of Herculeah against the far wall.

  “I see you, Herculeah,” he cried. “We’re going to help you.”

  Cobby said, “Sam, you keep the dog occupied.”

  “With what? He’s already got my hammer.”

  “With sticks, anything. What’d you say the girl’s name was?”

  “Herculeah.”

  “Hey, Here,” Sam called into the opening.

  Meat knew that Herculeah did not allow anyone to call her that, but he thought she might make an exception for construction workers.

  “We’re going to keep the dog occupied, hon. You slip on around the wall if you can. Just inch around, real slow. Get right by the door. We’ll give you a count and then we’ll open the door just enough for you to slip through. Don’t try to answer me. Just try to do it.”

  “Get me some sticks, kid—big ones.”

  Glad for something to do, Meat ran around gathering up the biggest sticks he could find and bringing them to where Sam stood at the back of the stable.

  “I hope this works.”

  Sam shoved one of the sticks into the hole and instantly it was yanked out of his hand. The dog’s snarling face appeared in the hole, his teeth bared, saliva and foam dripping from his mouth.

  “Man, he is tough on sticks,” Sam said, feeding him another.

  “Can you see my friend?” Meat asked anxiously.

  “I can’t see much of anything but dog,” Sam said. “Ugly dog.”

  He fed him another stick.

  Sam said to Meat, “This is like a machine my wife ordered that crunches up sticks to make mulch. Man, this dog can make mulch. Look at that.”

  “You got the dog occupied?” Cobby called from the front of the stable.

  “As long as my sticks hold out.”

  “Can you see my friend?” Meat tried to peer around the dog.

  “Yeah, she’s making her way toward the door. More sticks! More sticks!”

  Herculeah inched slowly toward the door. Her heart pounded. Her legs were like rubber, too weak to support her. She was aware that at any moment the Doberman could turn and attack.

  She had heard the construction worker say, “Attack dogs go for the throat.”

  Back against the rough wall, she inched toward the door. She was at the corner now. She turned.

  Still the dog had not looked around. At his feet was a pile of shredded sticks. His antagonism with the man seemed to be growing.

  Another inch.

  And another.

  Herculeah kept her eyes on the dog. Don’t turn, she willed him. Don’t turn. I’m almost there. Whatever you do, don’t turn.

  “She’s at the door, Cobby,” Sam called.

  Meat ran around the stable and waited at Cobby’s elbow.

  Cobby said, “I’m going to count, hon. And when I get to three, I’m going to push the door open and pull you out. Ready?”

  Hercule
ah wasn’t sure. Her knees were weak. Her throat was dry. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  “One!”

  Herculeah tried to ready herself. She knew she would have to make the move of her life.

  “Two!”

  Herculeah took a deep breath. Power flowed into her weak legs, her trembling arms. She had never been readier for anything in her life.

  “Three!”

  26

  THE THREE OF THEM

  The door opened.

  Strong fingers encircled Herculeah’s arm, and in a move that was so fast Meat couldn’t see it even though he was standing right there, Herculeah came hurtling out the door.

  Cobby pulled the door shut behind her just as the dog hurled himself against it.

  “If this door had opened out instead of in, that dog would be on top of us, strong as he is.” He looked down at Herculeah. “You all right, hon? I didn’t mean to pull you so hard.”

  “It was just right. They were going to kill me,” Herculeah said. “They were really going to kill me.”

  She trembled, and Cobby patted her. “You’re safe. Don’t collapse on me now.”

  “I won’t.”

  “We’re not out of here yet.”

  Sam came around the stable. “That is one mad dog. He’s trying to chew the stable down. He’s gnawing at those boards. I don’t want to be around here when he breaks out.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Cobby said.

  “Fine with me,” Meat said quickly.

  “Can you make it to my truck, hon?”

  Herculeah nodded.

  Now that Herculeah was up and out of danger, Meat felt useless. Sure, he had been the one to get the construction workers, but they were the heroes.

  Ahead of him, it was Herculeah who had a construction worker on either side of her. He watched her give a shaky laugh as if to belittle her fears.

  Meat could appreciate the terror of being locked in a room with an attack Doberman. Meat had never had a dog and didn’t particularly care for them. He wondered sometimes about people who actually chose to have an animal living in their house.

  Meat had gotten a whiff of the air that Herculeah had breathed for the hour she awaited rescue, and that had been enough to turn him off dogs for life. The phrase “dog breath” had a whole new meaning for Meat.

  Ahead of him Herculeah cried, “Oh, there’s my mom, my mom! And my dad!”