by Casey Lane
“You’re afraid of her.” It wasn’t really a question, but he answered anyway.
“Yes, I think I am. She has locked me away out here in this broken down house. I have no phone, no car, and rarely does anyone ever drive past. I am completely at her mercy, much like you. I’m sorry child, but I have to go before she finds me here.”
“I understand.” And I did, he was in a fragile place in his life without the ability to fight back and with no one to fight for him. He bent to grab the cup, and I’m struck with an idea, silently praying he will grant my request. “Can I ask a favor?”
“If it’s within my capacity, I will try.”
I gave him a dejected smile before asking. “Can I keep your watch? So I can track the time I’m here.”
Wordlessly, he removed the timepiece and handed it to me.
Score!
********************
The conference door opened and everyone turned to see a short man, wearing khaki pants and a burgundy button up cardigan, hesitate just inside the door. He looked distressed to see so many people gathered in the room. When he failed to move past the entrance, Detective Carlson went to him.
“Is there something I can help you with sir?” Detective Carlson inquired.
The man looked around at all of the faces staring, waiting to hear his response. He turned nervously to the Detective and stammered, “I th-th-think I know who-who took Alexis R-Reed.”
Carlson introduced himself as the Detective in charge and showed the man to a long table, encouraging him to have a seat. At the man’s declaration, Ethan ate up the distance between them, prompting the detective to signal him to back off and give the skittish man some room.
“Ok sir, first, how about you tell me your name and why you think you know who abducted Ms. Reed.”
“Jerry Boyer, th-that’s my name.”
“You work with Lex at Bridgestone, right?” Ethan interjected.
Jerry offered a shy smile and nodded, pleased that Alexis had mentioned him to her friends.
Regaining control of the interview, Carlson addressed the man, “Alright Mr. Boyer, can you tell me how you discovered the kidnapper’s identity.”
“I d-don’t have very m-many friends. Most p-people ignore me and don’t re-re-m-member I’m th-there. P-people talk and I listen,” he elucidated. “I heard s-someone on the ph-phone but the voice wasn’t r-right. So I looked t-to see who it was. D-didn’t think anything else about it. Then a few w-weeks later, I h-heard Alexis talk about the m-messages sh-she got.”
“Are you talking about the threatening messages left on her home machine?” the Detective asked for clarification. At Jerry’s affirmative nod, the detective asked another question. “Was the altered voice Ms. Reed described the same as the one you overheard?”
“I couldn’t b-be sure, b-but something didn’t feel right, s-so I did some digging. I s-searched through everything we had on th-this person and it d-didn’t add up. I contacted some p-people I know b-by email to check out the-the references and backg-ground better. They got back to m-me this m-morning.”
Jerry handed a file folder over to Detective Carlson. The detective began flipping through pages of information, in some cases, re-reading the documents. Finally, he looked up at Jerry. “Why wouldn’t this information have been in the initial employment checks?”
“We d-didn’t do the check. The University p-provides those for interns.”
********************
I got the old guy’s watch apart and fashioned a crude pin. It took probably fifty tries, but I was eventually able to hit the correct mechanism, releasing the lock connecting the chain and hook. I may still be stuck with the cumbersome chain and cuff, but at least now I could move around. Of course, the first thing I tried was the door. My hopes that gramps may have ‘forgotten’ to lock the door were fleeting. Next, I felt around the damp walls of the room, searching for a spot soft enough to carve an opening. I was able to get several large chunks to fall from a few corners but nowhere near enough to stamp out a hole.
That left me with no choice. I really did not want to hurt the old guy, but I don’t want to be stuck in here more. No, my only option is to overpower him the next time he comes to visit. I sat against the wall, conserving my energy for my great escape. I heard voices outside the door. Shit, they’re both here. I dangled the chain through the loop on the wall and stood in my usual spot, waiting.
The door unbolted, and the old man flashed me an apologetic smile before stepping back outside. Replacing him in the entryway was a woman of average height. Her vintage wide bottom, high waisted, red pants and retro dark blue blouse clashed wildly with her purple hair. I decided to continue my ruse until I figured out if she was friend or foe.
“Sara? Is that you? How did you find me? Where is everyone?” I questioned in what I hoped came across as a mixture of stunned and relieved.
“Yeah, it’s me. I found you because I was the one who put you here. Sorry, but no one is coming for you.” She laughed manically. “Although,” she paused, “that boyfriend of yours has been a pain in my ass. He’s a persistent fucker, won’t let the heat die down long enough for me to carry out the rest of my plan.”
I was contemplating the girl with whom I had spent so much time, and it was exactly as the old man describe. The Sara I knew was sweet and caring. Always smiling and having a good time. The person in front of me was a stranger. The softness was gone, and in its place was an intense violence that completely changed her appearance.
“I don’t understand. How did you get me here? And why?”
“That didn’t go as planned either,” she said bitterly. “This should have been over with months ago, but you’re constantly surrounded by people! Do you know how irritating that has been? It was just dumb luck that I saw your car parked outside Inferno. And you, being the dumb ditz that you are, didn’t bother locking the doors,” she sneered. “You didn’t even notice me crouched in your back seat. I just had to bide my time for the right moment, and you were helpful enough to pull into that empty lot for me. A stun gun knocked you out, and a syringe full of tranquilizers kept you that way.”
“I still don’t understand why? I don’t have anything you could possible want.”
“YOU HAVE EVERYTHING!” she screamed. “You have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. Every person at that stupid company sings the praises of the great and wonderful Alexis Reed.”
Using a fake, nasally, high-pitched voice, she began to mimic the flattery. “Alexis Reed, she is so creative. I love working with Alexis; she has so much talent and completes everything before schedule. I want Reed on my team.”
I stared at her dumbfounded, but she wasn’t finished ranting yet. “I’m so sick of hearing it. I should be the one they are begging to work with. I should be the one given the promotions and best assignments. Everyone should be pleading with me to call them my friend. I’m the one that should be admired. Not a charlatan like you,” she spat.
Sara is working herself into a state of rage. I don’t know what she has planned, but I definitely know I don’t want to be a part of it. I position myself in front of the looped chain, quietly lifting so that it is resting in my hand. Then I wait, watching for a chance to strike, while she continues to preach her sermon. A noise from outside the building causes her to turn and triggers my movement. I slam into her profile, knocking us both through the gap to land on the hard ground beyond.
********************
“Alright people!” Detective Carlson barked. “I want to know everything about Elizabeth Sara Pack, and I want it yesterday!”
Bella approached the detective, handing him her cell phone. “I have a picture of her that was taken last week if that helps.”
Carlson grabbed the phone and threw it to a guy in uniform. “Make sure everyone receives a copy of that photo immediately.”
A rookie, fingers flying over his keyboard, yelled to his superior. “Got something over here!”
Etha
n and the detective reached the young recruit at the same time, and he began to read the screen aloud.
“Elizabeth Sara Pack… also known as Lizzie Pack… also known as Sara Monroe. She is twenty-three years old and originally from Andover, Kansas. Her mother is deceased, and there is no father listed. Former guardian is a Stanley Francis Monroe. She is a high school graduate and attended Henderson State University in Arkadelphia, Arkansas, dropping out her sophomore year. That same year, the Pennsylvania courts ordered her to be admitted into an inpatient psychiatric treatment center for hallucinate behaviors resulting in extreme aggression.”
“Check records for any properties or rentals listed under any of her aliases and known associates,” Carlson ordered.
The young officer tapped out commands, rapidly flipping through screens until he found what he was looking for. “Sara Monroe is renting a house at 127 Fairfax Lane.” After relaying that information, he resumed his hunt.
“There is also a property listed under a Francis Pack. Fifty acres located at 53789 County Road 72, Beckwood.”
“Pull the second address up on the satellite,” the detective ordered.
Within a few key strikes, an aerial view of the property appeared on the screen. “Zoom in there,” he directed, pointing to an area containing several structures. The real time adjustments took less than a minute to focus. He scrutinized the image, his hawk eyes scanning intently. At last, Carlson pointed to a small building behind the main house. “I want to see that.” He studied the new frame for a split second before directing his troops to move out, Ethan quick on his heels.
Jack stepped up to the fledgling cop, demanding to know what was happening. The young man pointed to the screen, revealing the trunk area of a car poking out from a ramshackle building. “That matches the description of a gray Lincoln called in on a tip. The caller believes Ms. Reed was the passenger. The property is owned by what we believe is another one of Ms. Pack’s aliases.”
Chapter Nineteen
We landed with a thud, knocking the wind from us both, and causing the gun I didn’t know she had, to skid into the grass. I recovered first, jumping to my feet, prepared to run, but Sara rolled grabbing my ankle. I fell to my hands and knees, kicking out behind me wildly. I was trying to gain my feet when she tackled me from behind. My head hit the ground, and the force from the fall pushed my face across the rocky earth.
We tussled, both rolling and trying to get the upper hand. Instead, we succeeded only in tangling ourselves in the chain still connected to my wrist. Sara threw a wild punch, making contact with the hard ground. I bucked, pushing her to the side, and scrambling to my feet. I jerked the chain linking us, wrenching her arm with it, and causing her to cry out in pain and fury.
Sara came up swinging a weathered board, dingy white paint barely noticeable. I jumped back in an attempt to avoid the blow, but a long rusted nail ripped a slash along my upper arm. Warm rivulets glided down my extremity, coloring the ground red. She swung again, connecting wholly, but not with me. Unnoticed during our struggle, we had shifted closer to where the old man was standing. Sara hit him square in the chest, knocking him to land on his back. The aged beam split in two, one piece still in Sara’s clenched hands. The other board nailed to the old man’s chest, blood oozing from underneath, watering the green grass.
Using the near miss as an opportunity, I bolted towards the tree line. I was pumping my body as fast as I could through a waist high field, but still heard Sara’s pounding feet gaining. I heard an echoing boom followed closely by a whizzing sound flying past my ear. A crash and muffled cursing from behind had me praying for the allowance I needed to reach cover safely.
I broke free of the meadow, weaving deep into the shelter of the woods. Sara began calling out insults and threats as she crossed the threshold. Hiding behind a thick trunk, I ripped a ragged strip from the hem of my shirt. Needing to end the trail of blood shadowing my movements, I wrapped the wound as best as I could.
I set out, picking my way quietly through the foliage, and listening intently for any signs of my now silent stalker. A snapping twig to my left, forced me into a low crouch, immobilizing me. A bullet exploded the bark of a nearby tree. I remained motionless until I heard movement heading away from my hiding spot. Holding my breath until I was sure I was alone, I choose a new direction and began to move. Thunder rumbled both helping and hindering my flight.
********************
The Escalade followed the sirens speeding down the dirt road, skidding to a stop on the grassy berm. Ethan and Makayla vaulted from the front, followed by both of their fathers. They hurried to where uniforms were huddled. Makayla gasped, covering her mouth with her hand at the sight of the dead man lying in the grass. She backpedaled, falling into Frank’s arms, preventing her from tumbling in the sticky grass.
Detective Carlson appeared from inside a small, deteriorating, stone block outbuilding. “The dusty flooring has been disturbed in there. This is where she was held.” He ordered two officers to search the main building, and then he began to inspect the scene before him, barking at everyone to quit mucking up his crime scene. He studied the disturbed dirt, crouching in spots to get a better look.
The two officers returned, confirming what Carlson already knew. The house was empty. Standing, the detective addressed the gathering, eyes still roaming across the ground. “Coffield, call in a bus and keep the civilians here. Do not let ‘em touch anything.” Raising his head, he blasted Ethan with a wave of authority. “I mean it Storm. I’ve been lenient with you so far, but if you want your girlfriend back in one piece, you need to stay here and outta our way.” Impaling Ethan with an uncompromising stare, he spoke to Officer Coffield. “Storm gives you any trouble, cuff him, and put him in a squad.”
The detective swept a trail with his eyes. He began with the ground at his feet, moving across the yard towards a golden field, and finally ending with an intent stare into the distance. With a frightening smile, that no doubt has starred in countless nightmares, he spoke to the rest of his men. “Saddle up boys, we’re going hunting.”
Ethan stood next to his father, clenching his fists as he watched the men wade into the high grass. Frank placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Carlson’s the best. He’ll find her, have faith.”
“I’m not worried that he won’t find her. It’s the shape she’ll be in that’s got me concerned.”
Mac and MaKayla came to stand beside the pair. Eyes glued to the spot where the police disappeared, Mac affirmed, “she may be quiet, but she’s the toughest of my girls. If anyone can make it out of this, it will be her. Alexis is resilient and smart. She has a natural knack for remaining calm and rational, better than most men I know. She’ll be just fine. She has to be.”
Speaking into a radio, Officer Coffield provided and update on the team’s progress and a detailed description of the scene in front of him. A gunshot rang out in the distance, echoing from the surrounding hills and valleys, and the group cultivated into an edgy silence. Coffield resumed his narrative, requesting an ambulance and coroner’s van. Thunder boomed, reverberating around the countryside, and a gentle shower releases from a clear sky, forcing the group to seek shelter under a roof overlooking the forest.
********************
The light rain has made the ground slick, and I keep slipping on wet debris. I’m not a trained survivalist, but I don’t need to be a Boy Scout to tell that I am not stealthy enough to traipse over the muddy ground without leaving tracks a blind man could follow. I need a place to hide so I can regroup. I need a better plan, my stay as far away from the crazy ass, gun wielding bitch by running around a forest I’m not familiar with, isn’t going to get me out of here. I’m not sure I could even find my way out, not on purpose anyway.
Fatigue is rearing its ugly head. It is getting harder and harder to keep going at any rate of speed. I’m not sure how much more my body can endure. The temporary bandage I improvised is drenched with blood, and the rain is washing
it down my arm. I need to make a new one. Passing out from blood loss would be very inconvenient right now.
The rain stopped, but the beads of water are still falling at random intervals from above. Each time I hear a drop or a critter emerging to engage in a little post storm exploration, fear seizes my heart. I’m starting to hear footfalls all around me. I know it’s irrational. Sara and I are the only people out here, and she cannot be in more than one place at a time. Maybe I am hurt worse than I initially thought, and I’m hallucinating. Fantastic, as if I don’t already have enough, now I get to add going mental to my growing list of problems.
Moving slowly, I’m crawling over a downed tree when I hear it. Someone is crashing through the underbrush, crunching the flora beneath their feet. Sara is nearby and heading this way. Adrenaline spikes through my system, pushing me onward. No matter how many turns I make or how fast I go, I can’t shake her. She’s closing in, and my luck has just run out. I’m standing with my back to the edge of a steep hill, and I have nowhere else to go. It’s not terribly high, but would take too long to traverse under the circumstances, leaving me vulnerable. With flight out of the question, I prepare myself to fight. Just as a shape rounds a tangled mass of vines, I take an instinctual step backwards, plummeting head over heels down the sudden embankment. Coming to a stop at the bottom of the ravine, a dislodged rock lands a solid blow to my head, rendering me unconscious.
********************
Detective Carlson is following a blood trail, red smears coat the golden shoots every few feet, leading them into a wooded area. The trail ends near the base of a big oak. He switches tactics, combing the forest floor for any signs of disruption. Using broken twigs and torn leaves as a guide, he travels deeper into the canopy. His men fan out, following him at irregular intervals.
He tracks his prey, standing at the apex of a trail before it branches off to the left. A bullet casing lies at his feet. Scanning the area, he notices bark stripped unnaturally from an adjacent tree. Moving in that direction, the detective stops, kneeling at a patch of decimated foliage. Someone, presumably Reed, crouched, hiding behind the brush. Blood droplets indicate she’s the one injured, but the amount says it’s either not life threatening, or she’s lost too much already. Carlson weighs his options, deciding to track and remove the threat first.