Race with Death

by Gilbert, Morris

  But maybe somebody will come—Ben or Luke!

  And even as the thought rose in her mind, a mocking reply seemed to rise from somewhere deep inside: They don’t even know you’re a prisoner. Why would they even look for you?

  Dani closed her eyes and tried to reason out some hope. When I don’t come home, Mom will get worried. And the first thing she’ll do is call Ben.

  But the question rose instantly, Even if he knew you were missing, how would he find this place?

  It was a question that Dani didn’t want to entertain—and yet it could not be ignored.

  He’ll go to the police, she thought slowly. He knows I’d go there.

  And what will Catlow tell him? That you went to jewelry stores, right? And how long will it take Ben to find Blanchard’s store? And if he does, what can Blanchard tell him that would help him find this place?

  The logic that was part of Dani’s mind and character became her enemy. The longer she tried to think of how someone could find her, the less likely it seemed.

  Finally, she began to panic and only caught herself by saying aloud, “Look, Ross—you’ve got to stop crying like a big baby! First, get yourself out of these ropes!” There was a tough streak in Dani Ross, one that surfaced whenever she was faced with a difficulty. “Stop thinking about what won’t work,” she admonished herself sternly, “and think about what you can do!”

  Don’t try to stand on your broken head, dummy!

  “Good idea,” she muttered through dry lips. “Must be an easier way to stand up—”

  Her feet were numb from the tight cord, but her legs worked fine. A thought came to her, and she said aloud, “You’ve got no arms, but you’ve got two good legs—so use them!”

  Doubling up her legs, she shoved herself across the floor until she came to the wall with the bunk bed. Carefully she scooted along until her head touched the planks that made up the wall. Then, using her feet, she kicked at the floor until she was lying beside it. Taking a deep breath, she sat up, tightening her stomach muscles so that she rose slowly to a sitting position.

  “See how easy? Now—for the hard part—”

  She twisted around until her back was against the wall, then lifted her legs and gathered them up, so that her heels just touched her buttocks.

  “Okay, thighs—” she whispered. “Do your stuff!”

  Slowly she began to exert pressure, and by twisting her torso from side to side, discovered that she was moving upward. With a gasp, she made one final effort and came upright. Her head swam with the pain from the effort, so she stood there with her eyes closed, waiting until the dizziness passed.

  Opening her eyes, she smiled—and was proud of herself. “Wonder Woman’s got nothing on you, Ross! All you need is a costume, and you’d make America safe again!”

  Then she took a deep breath, and looked around the room. The thought came to her that if Fontenot had left her in the dark, nothing would have been possible. She paused, then said quietly, “Lord, you’ve said to give thanks in everything. So thank you for life—that he didn’t kill me out of hand. Thanks for the light, so I can see how to get loose. And thanks for the help you’re going to give me to get that job done!”

  She looked down at her feet, measuring the cord that bit into her ankles, then swept the room with a quick glance.

  There’s got to be a knife here somewhere!

  The cabinet seemed to be a likely place, but it was ten feet away. Only two ways to get there, either hop across the room or wiggle around it, bracing herself against the walls and the furniture.

  Better not do too much hopping—too hard to get up if I fall.

  Carefully she began inching her way around, avoiding the bunk beds by heading back toward the front door. It was a painful, laborious task, and by the time she’d gotten to the front door, her legs were trembling.

  “Come on, come on, you can do better than that!”

  She could see some tableware on top of the cabinet, and forced herself to complete the journey. But when she saw only two spoons, a bent fork, and a blunt table knife, she wanted to cry. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the wall, then suddenly looked at the front of a cabinet, which had a small drawer.

  “Got to have a paring knife or a butcher knife somewhere!” She moved to the front of the cabinet, stooped down, and groped for the handle. When she finally grasped it with numb fingers, it refused to budge.

  “Come on!” she cried angrily, giving a forward jerk that finally freed the cabinet—but which also threw her off balance so that she fell face forward. She managed to twist her body so that she fell heavily on her side, but the fall jarred her head, bringing the pain back again.

  She lay there, fighting off the nausea that came with the pain. The thought of going through the business of struggling to her feet as she had before was almost more than she could bear. For some time she lay there, her mind a blank. The room was cold, and her thirst grew worse.

  “Lord, help me get loose!” she pleaded. “I can’t do it—but nothing is too difficult for you!”

  A little tune began chiming inside her head, and she began to sing a chorus she’d always loved, a simple little song that she’d always believed but had never needed so much as right now in this deserted bayou.

  “Nothing is too difficult for thee,” she sang over several times through parched lips. “Nothing, nothing—absolutely nothing! Nothing is too difficult for thee!”

  Her voice sounded tinny and small in the stillness of the cabin. There was no organ, no piano, no choir with trained voices. But as she sang it over and over, somehow Dani began to experience something very unusual. The pain still beat against her head, her wrists and ankles were still tormented by the tight cords, and the thirst was not slaked—yet, despite all this, she began to feel an absolute certainty that all would be well! It was not that she psyched herself up, or tried to force herself to feel something. No, she was too far gone for that!

  It was as if she were suddenly surrounded by some sort of bubble, a clear bubble of crystal. She was inside, but somehow all her pain and fear and confusion were outside!

  With her mind she knew that nothing had changed. She was still tied hand and foot. No one was likely to come to her rescue. She was growing weaker each moment. And there was nothing to encourage her.

  Yet somehow she felt—protected.

  That was the essence of what she experienced as she lay helpless on the cold floor of the cabin.

  I’m going to be all right! she thought as the sense of being protected continued to wash over her. God is able—and he’s promised never to leave me. I can’t deal with the circumstances, but I can trust him to do whatever it takes to get me out of this!

  She lay there, and the fear and confusion and doubt faded.

  And as she lay there, her eyes fell on the lamp.

  The flare of the burning wick was reflected in her eyes—and she suddenly knew what to do.

  Rolling and twisting until she was back against the wall, she struggled until once again she was upright. Then she moved along the wall until she stood beside the table that bore the lamp.

  It was an ordinary lamp with a thick glass base and a chimney made of thin glass. It was resting almost on the edge of the table—exactly where Dani wanted it.

  Carefully she began moving around the table until she was standing right in front of the lamp. She studied it carefully, knowing that if this failed she would be helpless. She could even die of dehydration before Fontenot returned.

  The chimney sat on top of the reservoir. It was not fastened but was held by three bent metal wires that curved over a lip on the base of the chimney. Dani knew that it was a simple enough matter to remove the chimney—but only if one had hands—and that it was very hot to the touch.

  How can I get the chimney off with my back to it and with my hands tied?

  “That is the question,” Dani whispered. Then she said, “Lord, help me—”

  She leaned over and peered at the rese
rvoir, noting that it was almost full. That was good—for it made the base heavier and less likely to tip over.

  For a moment, she toyed with the idea of trying to knock the chimney off with her forehead—but discarded that notion. There was too much of a chance of knocking the base over, and the thought of being trapped alive in a burning building sent a chill through her.

  She resolutely hopped around until her back was to the lamp. Carefully she reached back, touching the chimney. It was so hot that she withdrew her fingertips at once.

  I’ll have to do it in one smooth movement—spread my hands, close on the chimney, pull it up, then swing around and drop it.

  She waited until she was breathing evenly—and then did it!

  Her outstretched hands touched the sides of the chimney, and she closed them at once. The pain ran along her palms, but she lifted up, swung to one side, and released the chimney.

  The sound of the thin glass shattering on the floor was a beautiful sound to Dani!

  “Thank you, Lord!” she cried out, ignoring the pain of her scorched palms.

  Once again she turned around and considered the lamp. The wick was burning in a yellow circle of fire, not more than half an inch high. The cord on her hands, she assumed, was the same as that on her feet—thick cotton cord which would burn easily. She was suddenly very glad that Fontenot had not used tough nylon rope!

  “Going to hurt a little bit, Ross,” she said. “But think about how good it’ll feel to have these things off!”

  She twisted around with her back to the flame, then reached out carefully to locate the exact position of the reservoir. It was about eight inches from the edge, and moving awkwardly, she pulled it forward until she felt the heat of it on the small of her back.

  For one moment she hesitated, then she leaned forward, lifted her arms high, and moved backward. She lowered her hands and discovered that she could feel the heat of the flame well enough to adjust the position of her wrists.

  When she felt the heat on her wrist at what seemed like the spot where the cords were tied, she lowered her hands—and at once uttered a small cry, for she had misjudged so that the flame touched the heel of her right hand.

  Gritting her teeth, she moved her hands farther back, and this time, she felt the glow of the flame on her wrists.

  She was very close, she knew, but there was no way to burn the cords without getting singed. Slowly she lowered her hands even more, and the flame seemed to bite into her wrists. Closing her eyes, she strained outward, putting all the pressure she could on the cords.

  The pain grew worse, but she suddenly smelled something—and knew that it was smoke!

  With a desperate wrench at her wrists, she moved her hands closer to the flame—and then she almost fainted, so terrible was the pain!

  “Oh, God—!” she cried. And at that moment, the cords gave way!

  Dani staggered and almost fell, as her arms suddenly swung forward. But she caught herself, and the pain of her singed wrists and hands seemed nothing to the relief of having the use of her arms! She stood there, swinging them back and forth, moving her shoulders as the muscles relaxed.

  She was filled with an exaltation that had come to her only on rare occasions and expressed it by singing again, “Nothing is too difficult for thee—” as strongly as she could.

  She sat down and untied the cord from her feet, then rose at once and looked for something to drink. She found two cans of Dr. Pepper, ripped the tab off one, and let the liquid trickle down her throat.

  Nothing had ever tasted so good—and she knew that as long as she lived, Dr. Pepper would be her favorite soft drink!

  She stood there, nursing the drink for quite some time. She finally went to the door and opened it. When she stepped outside, dawn was breaking over the bayou. The sun was a crimson arc peeping over the rim of the world, and its rays transmuted the waters of the bayou from black and brown to orange and gold.

  Dani stared out at the huge trees standing as sentinels over the mysterious waters, and had no idea where she was. She had no boat and would not have known which direction to take if she had. She was all alone in the midst of danger with nothing to give her any hope.

  Yet she had hope. As she looked out at the white egrets that dotted the burning water, she knew that she was not alone.

  “Oh, Lord God, thank you for setting me free. Now I ask you to deliver me from this prison. You came to set the prisoners free, so your Word declares. Now—set this prisoner free!”

  A bull gator grunted harshly somewhere to her left, but Dani only laughed. “Grunt all you please, but I know the One who made you, gator! And he’s not going to let you have me!”

  The echoes of her voice disturbed a solemn blue heron that had come to rest on a cypress knee beside the cabin. He spread his wings and oared himself away with a disdainful look on his long face—like a merchant prince who had come to a land looking for riches and had found nothing!

  15

  Savage Hits a Blank Wall

  * * *

  What do you mean, she’s missing?”

  Savage never spoke harshly to Ellen Ross—never! But she had caught him off guard, speaking in a voice that had a slight tremor in it he caught even over the phone. He was never at his best over the phone, and he had spent a hard day with Sunny, watching as she interviewed nerd-type bureaucrats in little cubbyholes called offices. He had deposited her in her apartment, driven home, and gone straight to bed—but sleep had refused to come until the early hours of the morning.

  When his phone had rung, it had jerked at his nerves so badly that he was clawing under his pillow for his gun before he realized the source of the noise. He had groped in the darkness for the phone, knocked it off the nightstand, and when he had fished it off the floor, he placed it to his lips and growled, “What is it?”

  “Dani’s missing, Ben!”

  The sound of the fear in her voice made him respond harshly, “What do you mean, she’s missing?”

  “She was supposed to be in last night,” Ellen said, speaking jerkily. “But she never came home.”

  “Maybe she decided to stay over in Baton Rouge.”

  “She knows I worry, Ben. She’d have called if she was going to do that.”

  Savage’s mind raced, but all he could come up with was, “Look, Ellen, maybe she had car trouble or something.”

  “Ben, you know Dani better than that! She’s always good about letting people know when she can’t make it to an appointment.” Ellen Ross was not a nervous woman, but Savage sensed that she was on the verge of giving way to her fears. She paused, as if to get better control of herself, then asked, “What can we do, Ben?”

  “Call Luke,” Ben said instantly. “I’ll be in Baton Rouge in an hour. Did she say where she was going—anything about her plans?”

  “She said she was going by Angola to see Eddie Prejean,” Ellen answered. “Then she said she was going to talk to the detective who was on the case. I don’t think she mentioned his name.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She—told me not to worry, that she might be late. But, Ben, Allison and I went to a movie last night. We were gone from seven until after ten.”

  “No message on the answering machine?”

  “It quit working about a week ago.”

  “She probably left a message that didn’t get on there, Ellen,” Ben said. “Did you call the office to see if she’d left any word with Angie?”

  “It’s too early. Angie doesn’t get in until eight-thirty.”

  “Look, I’ll go by the office first and check. I’ll call you if she left word there.”

  “Call me anyway, Ben!”

  “Yeah, sure.” He tried to think of some way to make her feel better, but said only, “I hate people who say, ‘Don’t worry.’ But it’s probably okay. Call in thirty minutes.”

  He hung up the phone, threw his clothes on, and left without shaving. When he got to the office, he checked the answering machine, then dialed E
llen’s number. “Nothing on this machine, Ellen. Call Luke and fill him in. Tell him I’ll be talking to the officers at the Baton Rouge Police Department, but have him put an APB out on Dani’s car. He’ll know what to do.”

  “All right.” She hesitated, then said, “Call me!”

  “Sure. We’ll find her, Ellen.”

  “I’m—glad you’re here, Ben!”

  Savage left the office, got into the Hawk, and left New Orleans at once, waiting until he got out of the city limits to break the speed laws. No creature on earth is more unreasonable or has a more erratic temperament than the traffic officers of the New Orleans Police Department. At times they jerk a hapless driver to the station for nothing more offensive than getting one wheel in the next lane of traffic, but at other times they ignore a clown who drives down the middle of the street at high noon.

  He kept the needle of the speedometer hovering around eighty as the Hawk hurdled past the exits that led to the small towns lying off the ribbon of highway, and by the time he passed the sign proclaiming the city limits of Baton Rouge, a thin ray of sunlight illuminated the sky.

  The parking lot behind the police station looked desolate as he parked the car. Too early for anyone to be on duty, he thought, but he ran across the cement and into the building anyway. A heavyset sergeant looked up as he came in, his face phlegmatic as he droned, “Yes, sir?”

  “I need to talk to one of the officers who handled the Louvier case.”

  The sergeant stared at him. “Hey, you’re Savage, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Displeasure drew the lips of the officer down instantly—and then a thought came to him that he seemed to enjoy. “Why, sure, Mr. Savage. You want to talk to Detective Oakie. I think you two have met?”

  Savage shook his head. “I’d rather talk to one of the other officers.”

  A deep laugh shook the belly of the sergeant. “I’ll just bet you would! Okay, how about Lieutenant Catlow?”

  Savage showed no trace of the disappointment that came to him. “Catlow will be fine,” he said steadily. “Is he here?”