Reaching the middle of the attic stairs, I slowed. The few remaining steps were agonizing: my feet became leaden and my body numbed. I forced myself to raise my eyes, to focus on the far right-hand side of the attic where little Jimmy and the second ghost boy had been waiting for me.
From God or from Satan, if Trina was there, I would know the difference. But it would also mean she was dead.
I staggered to my room and collapsed on my bed.
“Dear God, dear God, dear God.”
Shaking so hard my teeth were rattling, I pulled the spread over me and curled into a ball.
The tears came. Floods of tears. Shaking was replaced by body-wrenching sobs.
I hadn’t cried since Nancy died.
The tears lasted forever; they brought relief. I had not found my daughter—not her body or her image—in the attic.
She was still alive, and tears came again, this time in anguish for what might be happening to her.
God, Trina is young and innocent. She’s pure and decent and good. You allowed her to have cancer, and if that isn’t bad enough, now You allowed her to be kidnapped. Why?
My fist hit the pillow. Then I couldn’t stop. I pounded the pillow over and over, shouting at God, working out my anguish.
Anger spent, I lay looking at the ceiling. Fear settled over me, the kind of fear that comes right before you’re attacked. The danger felt close and personal. The demon!
I had seen a glimpse of evil in the attic with Barbara, and it had been more horrific than I ever imagined. What if Trina was in the grasp of someone controlled by an entity like the one that had controlled Barbara?
I fled downstairs.
“Where’s Ted?” I asked, entering the kitchen. Sandra was sweeping the kitchen floor.
“Back at the police station.” Red rings circled her eyes. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
I poured myself a cup, but didn’t sit. I couldn’t. I needed to be doing something to find my daughter.
Realizing that someone controlled by evil could have Trina, my desperation to find her took on a new meaning. Leaning against the kitchen sink, adrenalin surging in my blood and screaming for action, but I had no idea what to do.
Sandra finished sweeping the floor. The dirt always appeared in the far corner. Same spot. Always the dirt.
Slumbering connections began to awaken in my brain. Bits and pieces, unimportant by themselves, pulled together, like a magnet attracting iron. The dirt. The floor. Same place. Last night, the sound…
“I know who has Trina!”
30
I left Sandra staring at the back door as I ran toward the alley. I envisioned putting my hands, forcefully, around the throat of the man who had my daughter. I imagined his hot skin under my fingers, the life-giving blood flowing through his arteries dwindling while I squeezed tighter and tighter…
I pounded on the door, tempted to shove my fist right through it. “Mitch! I know you’re in there!”
I beat again, leaving a dent in the old wood. “Get out here or I’m coming in. I know you have Trina!”
Ramming my shoulder against the door, the latch broke and I stumbled into the living room.
The room was quiet. And vacant. As I rubbed my shoulder, my eyes darted, absorbing everything at once.
The scum-ball’s showing his true chicken nature. He can pick on women, but when faced with a real man, he hides like a girl.
The living room held only an old worn couch in the middle, a new flat screen television sitting on crates by the front window, and an old desk pushed against the back wall. Two doors led from the living room, one on each side of the space. Both were closed. I assumed the opening in the back, beside the desk, led to a kitchen.
I shoved the left door open. A single mattress lay on the wooden floor. Clothes were strewn everywhere. I kicked each piece, envisioning Mitch’s face, but the room was empty.
Rushing across the living room, I slammed open the second door. The knob crashed against the wall.
Mitch was asleep in bed.
Lava-hot anger filled my veins.
Something is wrong.
I couldn’t think; didn’t want to think. I needed an outlet for my rage, and I had found him.
Lunging at the sleeping man, I grabbed him by his shirt collar and shook him. “Wake up you coward! You’re going to pay for what you did to Trina! Where is she?”
“Trina?” he slurred.
I threw him back on the mattress. “Yes, Trina!”
Mitch remained where I had thrown him, staring at me with unfocused confusion. I wanted to pound him, right then and there: I needed to enjoy his pain, to watch him bleed. I raised a fist.
My arm stopped in mid-air, as though held by an invisible force.
Doubt sucked at my anger, like a leach draining blood. There was something I was missing, something important. I dropped my arm.
Mitch looked past me. “Trina?” he mumbled, managing to prop himself on one elbow. “What did you…Trina?”
“I see you found Mitch.”
Whirling around, I saw the roommate, Jack, standing just inside the bedroom door.
Something is wrong. Something…
That elusive ‘something,’ the source of the silent but shrill alarm reverberating in my head remained constant, but vaporous like smoke. Unable to identify the threat, I still felt the internal warning.
Mitch turned in bed slightly and I noticed what I had missed before. There were needle marks on his arms—more than a few. The needle marks had never been there before.
My mouth went dry. It wasn’t Mitch! Then who? Who else could be driving Mitch’s truck? The smoke in my brain cleared.
Jack!
It took all my effort to keep from throwing myself on Jack. I couldn’t show my hand just yet.
“I found him all right,” I grunted, trying to slow my breathing. “When did he get back?”
“Shortly after you came lookin’ for him. He showed up in his truck, out of his mind from drugs. I looked for his stash, but couldn’t find it. He has it somewhere, but he’s not talkin’.”
“He’s been like this for two days?” I probed.
“He’s like this after he shoots up. He’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”
“No.” Mitch’s voice was raspy. “What…Trina?”
Jack glared at him. “Shut up, Mitch.”
As the younger man struggled to sit on the edge of the bed, a hint of red began to color his cheeks. “What… you… do… Trina?”
Jack bridged the space between the door and the bed in a fraction of a second. Mitch crashed against the wall, blood oozing from his nose, and slid into a silent heap on the mattress.
Jack stared at the unconscious man and rubbed his hand. “I said shut up,” he mumbled.
I have to get to the police. Jack has Trina, and he’s crazy.
I moved toward the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I ran and made it half way across the living room before a bullet hit the front window. I stopped.
Turning, I saw the gun was now pointed at me. I didn’t know if Jack had intended to hit the window or hit me, but he knew how to pull the trigger; that was good enough.
Someone heard the shot. They’ll call the police. I just have to keep him talking. Keep him calm.
“I should’ve taken care of Mitch when he figured out about the boy,” Jack said. “I’ve spent a fortune keepin’ him high for the last few days, and now I’ll still have to kill him.”
The boy? Is he talking about Jimmy? I took slow breaths, my nerves still bouncing out of control. I wouldn’t be able to help Trina if I was dead.
“What about my daughter? What did you do to Trina?”
“She’s fine.”
“What about Jimmy Roberts?”
“It’s not what people think. It was risky comin’ to the house during the day, but I wanted to take as much as I could before Mrs. Roberts got too
involved. I hadn’t planned on the old man dying that soon. None of the family had been up in the attic in years. She would never know if anything was missing.
“But then the kid showed up and saw me. I needed time to think. There was some chain in the truck. I bolted him safe to the rafter, threw him a blanket, and left.”
My lip curled in anger. “You chained the boy to the wall like an animal!”
Why had I not thought of Jack before? All those dogs howling at night were probably his. I was talking to a child-killer, and not just any child-killer. He was responsible for the death of Jimmy, Sandra’s grandson, my ghost boy.
Things started to fall into place. “You made the anonymous call to the police, the call about Pastor Steve.”
“It came to me sudden-like, a solution to all my problems. I got the blanket and watched for a chance to get into the church. It wasn’t hard. They should be more careful, or they’ll get robbed.” Jack snickered at his own joke. “The pot was a good touch, don’t you think?”
“An innocent man is in jail.”
“And I’m not. By the way, the neighbor kids were growing the pot. I gave them some plants. The rest was up to them. You found their second crop; they’re a clever bunch.”
Revulsion oozed out of me. My fists were hard. I bit my lip and the taste of blood only fed my need for action.
But he had a gun. And there was Trina. The hope that she was still alive calmed me.
“I had to take time to think,” Jack stated. “And I had to keep Mitch out of the attic until I decided what to do with the kid. Ol’ Mitchy had agreed to the stealin’, but I knew he would draw the line at hurting a McIverson.
I wasn’t sure who he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. “What did you do with Trina? Where is she?” I shoved my clenched fists into the sides of my legs. “If you hurt her…”
Jack grinned. “In good time, old man. It’s all part of the story.”
Jack’s smirk reminded me of Barbara’s possessed face.
I stumbled backward. Am I battling man or demon?
God, please help me.
“The old man promised Mitch the house when he died. We were gonna clean the attic out then, but the man didn’t keep his word. The stuff should have been Mitch’s anyway. He was the one being robbed.”
Jimmy must have been so frightened during his last hours in the sweltering attic. And Trina. She deserved to die in a soft bed, in God’s time, not at the hand of this monster.
I formed a plan. It was stupid, and probably would fail, but I had to try.
Forcing my arms to stay at my sides while every fiber of my being wanted to tear into action, I shuffled forward, advancing an inch, barely noticeable.
“Why did you take my daughter? Where is she?” I shifted my feet again, moving a few inches closer to the target. I was now within five feet of the barrel of the gun—the gun that was still pointed at my chest.
I needed to get still closer. Would he notice? Would he shoot me? I had to risk it.
“That was her fault. If she would have minded her own business I would never have touched her.”
I was close enough to smell his breath, the stench of rot.
God help me. God help me. God help me.
“I knew the rumors of treasure buried in the house. Everyone in town knows the old stories. That’s why I buddied up to ol’ Mitchy. Figured we could look around while the old man slept.
“I found the cellar right before your daughter moved in. The treasure’s got to be down there.” Jack stared at me as though seeing me for the first time. His expression changed from gloating superiority to almost child-like. “I never wanted to hurt anyone; I just wanted the treasure. They got in the way, the kid and your daughter.” He glanced away. I moved closer. “I could have killed them both right-off. Most would have, you know. But I didn’t. I’m not a killer.”
“Where is she?” I asked through gritted teeth.
Jack acted as though he hadn’t heard my question. “Figured I could sell the junk I’ve been finding. I go back every few nights, whenever I can get Mitch’s truck away from him. She must have heard me.”
He cleared his throat and spit on the floor, the shiny pile of reptile snot made me gag.
When his eyes reached me next, the black look was back. “So I hit her—”
Lights exploded in my head; all reason was gone. I leaped toward him, not caring if he were man or demon. The impact knocked him to the floor, with me on top of him. My face smashed into the wood. The gun careened across the room.
Even though I outweighed Jack by at least seventy-five pounds, he slithered from under me and jumped to his feet. Blood dripped from my nose as I struggled to stand.
A fist hit me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain, but managed to stay focused, hoping to avoid another punch.
Jack lunged to the left.
The gun!
I grabbed his ankle. He lost his balance.
As he fell, his other foot pounded into my groin. Fire blazed through my body. His ankle slipped from my grasp.
With searing pain clouding my vision, I scrambled to my knees. If Jack got to the gun, I knew he would kill me, and Mitch, too. The sound of blood roared through my ears.
When he grabbed the black grip of the gun, I knew my life was over. I staggered to my feet.
Jack shuffled backward, and the gun dropped to the floor.
I lunged toward the weapon. Slipping on the puddle of snot, I lost my balance and skidded on my stomach to the left, just nipping the handle of the gun with my fingers. It skittered away, across the floor. With my energy gone, I rolled over to face my executioner.
Sandra was standing beside an unconscious Jack, a piece of wooden railing clenched in her hand.
31
I held the gun over Jack’s prostrate body until the police arrived. “That beast killed Jimmy,” I shouted as soon as the first officer entered the room, “and he has my daughter!”
Sergeant Cooke removed the gun from my hand and pulled Sandra and me aside as more uniformed men streamed into the house, including the ever-present Officer Studler.
“He has my daughter!” I yelled while keeping my eyes fastened on the prone form of Jack.
Any movement on Jack’s part and I would have had my body on top of his. Not until I heard the comforting snap and saw the sparkle of metal around the beast’s wrists did I relax my vigil.
“Are either of you hurt?” Sergeant Cooke asked, eyeing my bloody face.
“He has Trina! You’ve got to find out where he took her! If she’s hurt…”
Two ambulances arrived. One of the paramedics attended to my bloody nose. Soon both Jack and Mitch were wheeled out and loaded into the waiting ambulances.
As I rushed toward the door, a hand grabbed my arm.
“Whoa, where are you going?” Sergeant Cooke asked.
“The hospital!”
“We have it all taken care of, Mr. Iver.”
“I have to find out where Trina is!”
“Studler, get over here.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Take statements from these two.” Looking at me, Sergeant Cooke added, “I appreciate your concern; I have a daughter of my own, and I would be half crazy if I were in your situation. But you will do your daughter no good by going to the hospital and interfering with our work. Let us do our job.”
“Statements can wait,” I shouted to his retreating back. “I need to find my daughter, and Jack knows where she is! I can make him tell me!” My last hope walked out the door, leaving behind young Mr. Smarty-Pants.
“Where do you want to talk?” he asked, pulling out the ever-present note pad.
“I don’t want to talk at all. What if Jack gets away? That would be just like him, and then we might never find Trina!”
“Security details will be assigned to both men until things can be sorted out. They will be questioned when it’s possible to do so.” His voice reminded me of a phone recording. “Push one if you w
ant…”
Sandra took my hand. “Bill, Officer Studler is right. We’ve already looked everywhere we know to look. They’ll get the information from Jack.” Her eyes pleaded. “We have to wait.”
“I promise you,” Officer Studler said, “if you show up at the hospital before you’re invited, I will arrest you.”
I glared at the man, hating his power.
Too worked up to sit, Sandra and I provided our statements standing in the middle of the living room. Studler finished his paperwork and left. The other policemen had already gone. The only evidence that remained of the life and death struggle that had just taken place here was blood on the floor and the green slime on my shirt.
Frustrated, I headed to the door. “I have to go to the hospital. I’m going to get that boy to talk even if I have to fight the entire police force to do it.”
“Wait, Bill. I know you want to find Trina. I do, too, but you know what Officer Studler said.”
“He wouldn’t dare arrest me.”
“He would and he could. As much as I hate it, he’s right. We probably would be interfering. We have to trust the police to do their job.”
“Just like they’ve done their job finding your grandson?”
I winced. Why did I insist on hurting this woman? She did not deserve the brunt of my anger. “Sandra. I’m sorry.” I took her in my arms and held her, needing her comfort as much as I hoped she needed mine.
My body stiffened. I dropped my arms.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I see him,” I gasped. “He’s standing beside the old desk.”
Sandra turned toward the desk. “See who?”
“What are you doing here?” I choked out. “What do you want from me?”
I was seeing him again, and I still didn’t know if he was from God or Satan. After all the discussions with Pastor Steve, and all the prayers, I still didn’t know. Now he was standing in this room, right here, with me.
“Bill, who are you talking to?”
The second ghost boy started to walk. He moved through the opening into the kitchen and was gone from view.
Deadly Decision Page 20