by Debra Webb
“I only have my mother,” Carrie says. “She doesn’t even know where I am. I got mixed up with drugs when I was sixteen. She threw me out. I don’t blame her. I was one crazy bitch.”
“I want to go home,” Ellen whispers so softly I can hardly hear the words.
I sigh. “Me, too.”
Carrie says, “We can’t let them win. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” I agree.
“I don’t know if I can fight again,” Ellen whimpers.
I reach out and squeeze her arm.
There’s nothing else to say.
“Let’s make a deal,” Carrie says.
“Okay,” I murmur.
“If just one of us gets out of here, promise to find the families of the others and tell them we love them. I mean, I don’t have anyone but my mom but I’d like her to know since I’ve been such a shit to her. I wish I could do my life over.”
“I like that deal,” I tell her.
“Me, too,” Ellen whispers.
For the next few minutes we talk about home and who our parents are. Then more of that silence closes around us.
“But we won’t have to worry about doing any of that,” I say with renewed determination, “because we’re all getting out of here together.”
Alive, I pray.
45
Tiffany wasn’t sure which of them was hurt the worst.
Vickie just lay on the floor saying nothing. Lexy was curled up in a corner. They should close their eyes but the two of them just stared unblinking at the images.
At first it felt like the people in the movies or whatever it was were real. Even now, Tiffany reached out and tried to touch the moving images.
“Not real,” she murmured.
Maybe she wasn’t even real anymore.
Maybe they were all dead—zombies or something.
She had thought she preferred the darkness to the light but now she didn’t care which came as long as the pictures stopped.
The people in the movie or whatever it was were slashing and stabbing each other. Limbs were chopped off. Heads severed. Eyeballs poked out.
It didn’t stop. She couldn’t say for sure but it felt like the movie had been playing for days. The words murder, murder, murder kept floating across the images. Then it would change to kill, kill, kill. And then survive, survive, survive.
Tiffany closed her eyes and put her head down. She didn’t want to watch.
She wanted to think of home. Of her mom and dad and her uncle Tony.
They were looking for her, she was certain.
The others didn’t believe. They were sure there was no surviving because no one was coming. But Tiffany refused to give up.
She couldn’t estimate how long it had been since they ate. Two or three days. No water today either. Her lips were so dry and cracked. Every bone and muscle in her body seemed to ache.
She had dried blood all over her. It hurt to pee. She wasn’t sure why, maybe because she wasn’t getting enough water.
Her coordination was off.
And she was so tired. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep but her body refused to shut down enough to allow sleep to come.
The movie suddenly stopped and the screaming began. So loud, so many different people screaming.
Tiffany covered her ears.
She scrambled to her feet and tried to remember where Vickie and Lexy were lying.
A body slammed into her and knocked her on the floor.
Tiffany tried to scramble away.
“They told me what you said!”
Lexy’s voice.
Tiffany tried to fend off her blows. “What are you talking about?”
“You said you were going to kill me in my sleep!”
What the hell was she talking about?
Lexy suddenly flew off her.
Tiffany scrambled away.
“You’re the one!”
Vickie’s voice.
“You told them you want to kill me because I’m weak.” Vickie screamed the words. At Lexy, apparently, since she wasn’t close to Tiffany.
The screaming stopped. Tiffany’s ears rang but she could still hear the smacks and punches coming from the other two.
She felt her way to them and pulled Vickie off Lexy.
“Stop it! This is what they want us to do!”
Vickie tried to break loose. Tiffany kept her arms locked around Vickie’s skinny body.
“I don’t trust either one of you,” Lexy snarled.
“That makes two of us!” Vickie shouted as she jerked away from Tiffany. “I don’t trust anybody!”
Tiffany drew as far into a corner as possible. Any hope she had clung to that they might survive faded.
They were never getting out of here.
46
10:00 p.m.
If Madelyn hadn’t answered her text when she did, there would have been hell to pay. She’d said she would arrive within the next five minutes. Madelyn was the only other person who knew the location of the testing facility.
She was also the only person in this world that Pamela trusted.
Pamela Blume was not a patient person, nor did she trust easily. Despite turning sixty-two next month, age had not mellowed her. Orson should have understood her need to reach beyond his wildest dreams.
Men were never really satisfied. Pamela had lived in Orson’s shadow in this Podunk town for more than thirty years—since she lost the grant for her first research endeavor. Losing that one wasn’t so bad, but every subsequent application was overlooked or turned down. Her work had been pushed aside repeatedly for that of her male peers. Eventually she had realized what she needed to do. Her adoring husband had gladly turned over large chunks of his inheritance without question to make her happy. Five years of risky studies had been required to reap the attention she deserved. Her published works were now considered some of the most respected in the field of Cognitive Science.
The results of the secret work she had done all those years ago had garnered the attention of the military. They wanted soldiers who would kill without thought. Insurgents who would go in killing without blinking, no matter the target. Pamela had chosen the least likely of humans to turn into killers, and then she’d chosen targets who wouldn’t be missed. The homeless and the destitute—the parasites of society. That research had made her career.
But the real return on her investment had come from those whose salacious desires could only be sated by watching the most heinous of acts. With Madelyn’s help, Pamela had found a market deep in the darkest parts of the World Wide Web that allowed her the luxury of no longer needing her husband’s money or the respect of her pompous peers.
Dear Orson’s initial investment had made it all possible. But Pamela most appreciated his introducing her to Madelyn. She smiled. She loved Madelyn so. Now that Pamela was financially secure, the two of them were relocating to Thailand—a place where they could live the rest of their lives as they wished. But first they would need to ensure that any trouble from the past could not follow them. Madelyn’s idea to frame Orson had been ingenious.
Before their plans were finalized, Orson discovered Pamela’s secret files. Worse, he spoke to that fucking old hag who filed the lawsuit against her protégé, Dr. McLarty. In Pamela’s darkest moment, Madelyn had again taken charge. Using Conway, she set in motion McLarty’s fatal accident, neatly tying up that loose end. Under Madelyn’s direction Conway abducted three young women, just as he had all those years ago. Every single piece of evidence, even Pamela’s secret files, were arranged to point to Orson as the perpetrator of those evil deeds.
Her dear, oblivious husband would have been the perfect scapegoat. The plan would have worked beautifully, too, had Orson not killed himself before she was ready for him to die.
> If only the old fool hadn’t decided he couldn’t live with what his discovery meant: his wife had committed these atrocities right under his nose. He would be dragged through the mud in the courts and the love of his life would be taken from him. So he’d killed himself.
Pamela could fix that problem. When she was ready, she would burn the contents of the safe room, save certain evidence and his suicide note, along with his body and then the house. His charred remains would be found, the only residual evidence would point to what he’d done and Pamela would be far away.
Then Conway had to go stupid. Madelyn had done all she could to cover any tracks he may have left. Men were such fools. He’d risked everything for sex. Idiot. Again, not an unsalvageable situation. Any videos the police were able to collect from Conway’s apartment would only reinforce the theory that he was working with Orson.
Then Ima had come face-to-face with test subject #1. Joanna Guthrie was here and she had joined forces with the FBI agent. She could very well ruin everything. Time was running out.
Pamela stared at the monitor and the three women who were nearing the end of their young lives. Unlike all the other studies, this time no one would survive.
Now it was time for Pamela and Madelyn to go. As soon as she arrived, they were leaving. No more waiting. The risk was far too great at this point. The test subjects would die and that was that. All evidence would lead back to Orson. Since there was no time to burn the house as she’d planned, the police would determine that Conway had been doing Orson’s dirty work for him and, upon finding his body, had decided to follow through with their latest venture without his partner.
Pamela shut down the monitors, set the system to erase all data and picked up her small briefcase that contained everything she needed for her and Madelyn to begin their new lives. She checked to see that her stun gun was there—just in case—then she left the small office behind, moving through the dark corridors by memory. The area had once been a disaster shelter for the patients housed in the building, but more than half a century ago it had been deemed unsafe. Pamela had turned the long forgotten space into a state-of-the-art lab.
At the end of the main corridor the old staircase brought her up to the tiny ramshackle place that had once been a guard shack. She closed the secret door that blended perfectly into the worn tile floor.
Madelyn’s Jag was waiting outside in the darkness.
Anticipation making her pulse flutter, Pamela hurried around to the passenger side and slid into the seat. “Let’s go.”
“I was expecting a man.”
The blonde woman who stared at her, a gun in her hand, was very young and the look in her eyes told Pamela she was more than a little mentally unstable. Pamela’s first instinct was to run but the initial shock of the situation made her hesitate. “Who the hell are you? How did you get here?”
The woman shrugged. “It was easy. I just checked her navigation history and selected the most logical of her frequented locations.”
“Where is Madelyn?”
“Dead. I killed her.”
Pamela bit back the scream but she could not contain the moan. When she could breathe again, she demanded, “Who are you?”
“I’m Sylvia. You might remember my mother, Ellen Carson? She told me all the things you did to her...what you made her do. Now she’s dead.”
“I’m sorry for your loss but that is not my fault.” Pamela filled her voice with uncertainty and adopted a pleading expression. “It was my husband who did all those things to your dear mother and the others. I learned of the evil he had done and—”
“No.” Sylvia shook her head. “That’s not true. You see, right after I killed him I watched the videos my father had on his computers. He recorded all the times that your friend Madelyn yelled at him. You’re working with Madelyn, that makes you the one.”
Stupid bastard. Miles Conway had raped many of the test subjects but Madelyn hadn’t told Pamela until after he was dead.
Pamela should have killed him herself years ago.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Your mother volunteered to be a part of my program.” With nothing but the car’s dash putting off soft light, Pamela was able to inch her right hand into her case. “I really am sorry your mother died.”
“She didn’t just die,” the girl shouted. “She killed herself because of what you did to her. And I know she didn’t volunteer for anything. That piece of shit who raped her took her. Her friend Joanna figured out who he and the blonde woman who helped him were so it was easy for me to find them. I planned their murders for weeks. I made sure they both got exactly what they deserved.”
Joanna Guthrie. That relentless bitch had spoiled everything. She had walked away with her life. What else did she want? Fury swelled inside Pamela. Madelyn was dead and it was Joanna’s fault. She would pay for taking Madelyn from her.
“Wait,” Pamela said suddenly. “Don’t you want to rescue the missing girls first? If you kill me, they’ll die. I’m the only one left who knows where they are. Your mother would never want you to do that.”
Carson looked like a deer trapped in the headlights for a moment. “Show me where they are. Right now.”
“You’ll have to follow me.”
“Just remember I’ve already killed two people,” Carson warned. “I’ll kill you, too. I don’t care how many have to die before I’m finished.”
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Pamela promised.
The girl didn’t know it yet, but she was walking into her own grave.
Joanna Guthrie was going to die, too.
She had taken the one person Pamela truly loved—nothing else really mattered.
47
Day Twelve
Eighteen years ago...
I don’t know how many days have passed with no food. No water yesterday or today.
My skin burns like fire from the intense lights.
My brain refuses to shut down. I cannot sleep.
Ellen lies on the floor, not moving, not speaking, eyes closed.
Carrie doesn’t move much either but she curses every now and then. He—whoever their captor is—has not spoken again.
Has he left us here to die?
It feels as if we are very close to death.
I think we’ve reached a place where we must choose to go on or to give up. I’m so tired and I hurt all over. I’m not really hungry anymore but I am very, very thirsty.
Don’t give up, Jo.
Her brother, Ray, would shake her and say, you’re no quitter, Jo-Jo! You’re just starting. We’re a tough bunch. We don’t give up. Look at what Dad accomplished in his life with nothing more than sheer determination.
Her brother would be right. Their father had no education, no money and no family to back him up when he aged out of the foster care system. But he didn’t let that stop him. He worked hard doing any job he could find. No matter if it was digging ditches or washing cars or repairing cars, he did his very best. A few years later he was the top mechanic at the used car lot where he worked. Before long he was the shop foreman at a dealership. All with a sixth-grade education and pure determination.
I drag myself up. My daddy always says I’m like him. He says we have grit. Well, it’s time I start acting like it.
“We have to get up.” I open my eyes just enough to see. “We have to walk around.” I reach for Ellen and start to pull her up. She doesn’t look happy about it but she eventually stands. Her legs try to buckle.
“Get up, Carrie! We have to move around.”
She groans and curses but she, too, struggles to her feet. I pull her to my side. With Ellen on one side of me and Carrie on the other, we walk around the room, holding on to each other for support.
We alternately laugh and cry but we keep going.
We aren’t going to die today.
/> 48
MPD Public Safety Office
Monday, April 16, 10:00 a.m.
The coroner with the help of a medical examiner from Macon had spent most of the night attempting to determine if Professor Orson Blume had committed suicide. The final conclusion was that he had, in fact, taken his own life.
At daybreak this morning Tony and Jo, along with Nick and Bobbie, had headed out to the Central State Hospital property. Their search had begun with the old cemetery. The idea that all those people were buried there with nothing more than numbered iron markers—most of which were now lost—was mind-boggling. They’d found no indication of new graves anywhere in the area so they’d moved on to join the other search teams.
Milledgeville PD had begun an investigation into Blume and his wife, who was still unreachable. Colleagues and neighbors insisted both were out of the country. Obviously that was not true. One friend of Pamela’s suggested the two were rarely ever seen together anymore. Blume had retired and was busy writing a book on his life’s work while his wife was still striving for the brass ring in her career.
Agent Johnson had checked with the Bureau and Pamela Blume hadn’t left the country unless she’d done so using a passport other than her own. She was still here, somewhere. Tony suspected tying up loose ends before she disappeared.
He needed her to be here. He needed to find her. Otherwise Tiffany and the others might not be found in time. Wherever she was, a BOLO had been issued.
Tony needed to be back out there with Jo, Bobbie and Nick searching the hospital grounds. But Phelps had wanted him here for the morning briefing with the joint task force. This thing had grown far too big to be held in the small campus security conference room.
They’d gotten nothing on the BOLO for Sylvia Carson. She’d vanished the same way Tiffany and Vickie had. MPD had found her Honda Civic in Madelyn Houser’s garage. Phelps had apologized profusely that his detective hadn’t checked the license on the vehicle in Houser’s garage. The vehicle had been backed in so the plate wasn’t readily visible. The detective had assumed the car was Houser’s. Carson had used the Jag to keep a step ahead of the police. There had been no sightings of the Jag either.