by Janice Olson
Freedom foremost in her mind, an attempt to use her arms revealed her left one was useless. She took a deep breath, shoved upward with her right hand, and sat in a wobbly position, her head swirling. The exertion caused her breathing to come in heavy bursts. Before untangling the ropes from her ankles, she took a few moments to regain her strength. Her fingers gently probed the upper portion of her thigh that burned like fire. She found a long open gash, wet and sticky but barely oozing. BJ knew it wouldn’t take much to start the wound bleeding again.
Frustrated with the tight knots and the use of only one hand, her attempts paid off and the rope gave way.
Her exhilaration was short-lived when her logic kicked in. She still wasn’t free from her prison. The likelihood she was blind tormented her, hovering at the back of her mind. She rubbed her eyes to clear her vision without results. Knowing she had no room for fear, she concentrated on getting free from her prison.
She searched her mind for anything familiar and tried to picture her surroundings. Her screams didn’t echo much and were of short duration. A small bedroom, bathroom perhaps? Almost certain empty.
Perhaps she’d been dumped in an abandoned building with boarded windows. But wouldn’t specks of light leak through cracks and emit light, not this inky blackness that enclosed her? She listened again, but heard nothing except her own breathing and blood pounding through her veins. She heard it again … a faint inconsistent pounding, but not in the room, outside.
Think, BJ. Where are you? You’ve heard that sound before.
Using her one good leg and her right hand as a brace, she spun around on her bottom. Running her hand along the floor, she found the discarded rope. She doubled it, then hung it loose around her neck. After several attempts and a lot of pain, she tied the rope around her limp arm, pulled it up against her stomach to keep it from dangling and causing her more agony.
With excruciating effort, she moved across the rough, gritty surface, pulling with her right leg and hand to scoot in a straight path, figuring she’d eventually run into a wall. She touched things that crunched beneath her fingers, some that seemed to slither away out of reach, but she wouldn’t allow herself to hazard a guess what they were. She shoved the creepy imaginations aside and focused on her goal—to reach a wall.
During her trek she was vigilant to search for light but without success. Sweat ran down the sides of her face, each scoot jarred her injured arm and leg, lightheaded from the pain. Cautiously, BJ moved her hand along the floor to ensure she didn’t tumble down steps or into a hole. With each painstaking move forward the beat of her heart thumped hard against her ribcage. The cut in her leg throbbed in time with her quickened pulse. The blood seeped from the womb, running down around her leg, saturating her jeans.
She wanted to ignore her body’s protest, but the exertion and loss of blood made her journey difficult and slow. Several times BJ rested then pulled and scrapped her way across the floor.
God, help me, please.
Her toe bumped something. She leaned forward, stretched out her hand, and touched a cold, smooth wall. Marble? “Yes! Thank you.”
Her blubbering half-laugh, half-cry filled the room. Placing her head against the cold, smooth surface, she almost cried knowing her next challenge, rising from the floor, would be even worse. Her body screamed for relief. The exertion had her panting and she rested to regain a little strength before attempting to stand.
Sliding her bruised, cut hand up the wall, her fingers ran into a web. She cringed as she wiped the clingy threads onto her pants knowing full well she hadn’t removed them all. Not wanting to meet up with the spider, cautiously she stretched her body and arm, reaching upward and became almost giddy when she found a protruding ledge. Gripping the ledge and applying part of her weight, she found the shelf would hold her. Garnering her courage, she leveraged her good leg, pulled herself upward, struggling and screaming out in pain, until she was standing holding to the ledge for support.
BJ stabilized herself on one foot, groped along the dusty ledge, doing a half-hop, half-hobble. Each time the jarring motion caused additional pain. Her fingers bumped into a metal vase fastened in place. Thinking it strange that someone would build a stationary urn, her hand moved up over the vase. Dry blossoms with brittle petals crumbled beneath her touch and gave off a light clicking sound as they fell to the floor.
Cautiously, she moved along the ledge and felt a furry-legged bug crawl across her fingers. She screamed, slinging her hand away from the shelf, almost toppling over backward. Grasping for the counter, she hobbled quickly past until she stood in a corner. Uncertain if she should go back the way she came or continue around the juncture since the ledge had stopped, she turned. With her back to the wall for support, she felt her way along the wall until her leg bumped into something solid. She reached out and her hand wrapped around an iron railing, and there, about three feet below from where she stood, a pinprick of light.
Giddy that her sight hadn’t been affected, BJ’s hand trembled as she blindly felt her way around the rail, eased herself down to sit on the top step of a stairwell. She maneuvered down three steps on her bottom. When she reached forward she wanted to shout for joy, but held the sound inside. Her hand ran across ornately carved wood, her groping fingers found an old fashioned latch. She pulled and jiggled the handle. When it wouldn’t open, she leaned her weight against the door hoping to jar the thing free. The thing wouldn’t budge.
Overwhelmed with panic, freedom so close, BJ pounded on the door frantically with her fist and screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks. She stopped to listen, but heard no one. She yelled again, then sat silent, her ear shoved up against the door. A faint sound of splashing water and a cur-thump, thump-thump, cur-thump, thump-thump.
She’d heard the noise before and not too long ago either. But where? Searching her memory, BJ almost had a grasp of the place when she heard the high-pitched prattle of women—a group? She wasn’t certain.
Again she pounded on the door with her fist, harder this time, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Get me out of here. Please, somebody, help me.” Quieting down, BJ’s listened against the wood again. At first she heard nothing then recognized the voice. She beat harder this time. “Gladys—Ms. Kent, is that you. I’m inside. Please let me out.”
BJ heard several screams then they faded in the distance.
An uncontrollable tremor shook her body. She knew where her captor had left her. The knowledge added to her terror.
She was in the family crypt.
Chapter 67
I tell you, sister, I heard her. I know what I heard.”
“How many times have I told you, Gladys, you have an overactive imagination. Now sit in that chair and be quiet.” Myrtle pointed to a seat in front of Chief Doggett’s desk and gave her twin sister a no-nonsense shake of her head, the flowers on her hat bouncing and fluttering.
With indifference, Jason watched Gladys do as she was told. The wilted bouquet drooped in her left hand and her purse dangled at her side. She smoothed her long dress over her spindly legs with a trembling hand, making sure her black high-topped shoes barely peeked from beneath the material. With her weathered hand, she tucked a stray, grey curl beneath her hat before arranging the drooping flowers between both hands, placing them in front of her rounded stomach as if she were waiting for a long overdue bridal procession to begin.
Jason, leaning on the edge of Robby’s desk, arms crossed over his chest, continued to watch the Kent twins’ interaction with Chief Doggett. He could tell the chief had already had enough of the women and they had just walked in the door.
“Chief Doggett, my sister would have none of it, except for me to bring her over to the police station. She said she would walk here by herself if I refused to come. I couldn’t allow her to make the trip by herself.” Myrtle looked mortified at the mere thought. “You know a lady out alone and at this time in the evening. Why it’s going on six-thirty. What would people think? No, No sir, it just
wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.”
“What exactly is the problem, Ms. Gladys?” The chief motioned for Myrtle to sit in the other remaining chair facing his as he rounded the battered oak desk and took a seat that creaked beneath his weight.
“Well, Chief Doggett, my sister Myrtle and I were at the cemetery putting flowers on mama’s and papa’s graves. It’s their anniversary, you know. And—”
“Gladys thought she heard—”
“Now sister, I didn’t think, I know I heard—”
Jason’s sixth sense kicked in and he moved over to where the women sat but stood behind them, his mind grasping at straws. He wanted to hear what Gladys had to say but knew better than to interrupt while the chief asked questions.
“You did no such thing. You know good ’n well you didn’t hear any voices.”
“I most certainly did. I—”
“Ladies, please.” Chief Doggett’s face was a deep red and looked like he was about stretched to his limits. “Myrtle, if you please, allow Gladys to tell me what she heard so we can get to the bottom of this. That way you ladies can go home and have some tea or whatever you have at this hour.”
Myrtle released a loud huff. “We-ll.” She gave the chief an annoyed look, pursed her lips, sticking her nose in the air like she didn’t care for the smell in the room.
Robby laughed under his breath, but didn’t look up from his desk.
Gladys gave her sister a face that if she were a child would have no doubt been punctuated with her tongue sticking out. “Like I was trying to tell you. We were heading out to the graveside of our dear mama and papa. I wanted to place some fresh flowers from our garden on their graves. You know, with the abundance of rain our beds are full to bursting. We had some pretty yellow and white daisies, some of Mama’s favorites, and just look at them now.” She held the offending objects up for the chief to see.
Chief Doggett cleared his throat, doing his best to prompt the elderly woman on. “Yes. Go on.”
“Well, when we passed the Loveless crypt I heard screaming. It was Madelyne raised from the grave, I’m sure of it.” She covered her mouth with a lacy hankie, her hand trembling.
“Now, don’t excite yourself, Ms. Gladys, I’m sure what you heard was the old water pump on the fountain going out again. It makes an awful racket when it does.”
“No, Chief. I know that voice. And I heard it. And I tell you it was Madelyne. Something isn’t right. And I won’t go back out there until I know you have checked the crypt. It’s your duty to protect and serve. And I’m demanding you do your duty.” Gladys raised her nose in the air just like her sister did earlier, puffed out her chest, squinted, staring down the Chief.
Jason, already ahead of the chief, didn’t care about protocol. He had a question or two of his own. He moved to where the women could see him. “Pardon me, Chief. I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you don’t mind, may I ask the ladies a couple of questions?”
“Be my guest.” Doggett’s look said, ask away and while you’re at it, would you get them out of here?
Their identical faces turned and beamed up at Jason. “Good evening, Jason.” They spoke and preened at the same time, a flush coming to their cheeks. They were nosy but harmless.
“Ms. Gladys. Ms. Myrtle.” He inclined his head to both women before asking, “Are you certain you heard a voice coming from the Loveless crypt?”
“Oh, yes.” Ms. Gladys practically glowed with being the center of attention.
“A woman’s voice?” His heart pounded in his ears—BJ.
“Well, that’s what she says. But I didn’t hear a thing.” Ms. Myrtle gave Jason a smile, raised a brow, nodded in her sister’s direction, then rolled her eyes.
“Your hearing is not what it used to be, Myrtle, and I know what I heard.”
“There’s not a thing wrong with my hearing, Gladys. You’ve got an overactive imagination, that’s all.”
“Ladies.” Fortunately, Jason stopped Gladys before she could start round three. “What would you say to Robby and me driving to the cemetery and checking it out for you?” He looked in the chief’s direction. “I’m sure Chief Doggett wouldn’t mind if we eased your mind on the matter.”
The chief stood. “Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea. Why don’t you do that very thing. In fact, do it now.” He gave a reassuring smile everything would be handled. “Ladies, my officer will look into the matter. Will that do?”
Both women stood, batting their eyes at Jason.
“Thank you. That would be wonderful.” Gladys gave Jason a sweet smile still clutching the miserable looking flowers.
Jason couldn’t be sure, but he thought Gladys give him a wink too.
“You’re such a dear, sweet boy. And when you’ve finished at the crypt, come by the house. I’ll have some wonderful strawberry bread that will be waiting for you boys.”
“Well, I have some buttery shortbread that’ll melt in your mouth.” It appeared Myrtle wasn’t going to be outdone by her sister.
“Thank you, ladies. Robby and I’ll be sure to take advantage of your wonderful offer.”
He waited until the twins exited the building before heading back to Robby’s desk.
“Thanks for including me in on this little party.” Robby scrutinized Jason. “You think BJ may be in the crypt, don’t you?”
“Can’t be sure unless we look.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Robby?”
“Yeah.”
“I have a weird feeling about what Gladys heard. Could be nothing, but I’d rather have a look then ignore the possibility some madman placed BJ inside … alone.”
Chapter 68
What a fitting place to meet my mother.
BJ had always wanted family. Even prayed for family. And now … how many generations of her family were here only a few feet away? And today she could very well be the last of the line. She released a cynical laugh then wondered if she had gone mad after all or if the loss of blood was finally getting to her.
Giving the door another good pounding and a jiggling of the handle, she knew full well it wasn’t going to budge. She doubted the Kents would bring help. They probably thought it was a kid playing a prank. No one would come looking for her here. Why would they? They would have no reason to think someone had left BJ in a crypt with her ancestors.
She shivered at the thought of dying here alone. How long would it take? She had heard of people living for days without food and water, but in her weakened condition—sooner?
The groundskeeper wouldn’t have any reason to open the door, especially since Madelyne was believed to be the last of the Loveless line. What a surprise it would be for someone to open the door to the mausoleum and find her decayed form on the steps of the entrance. Would they bury her here? No one except Jason knew that she was a Loveless descendant.
What about the orphanage?
Odd that she should worry about the children when her own life hung in the balance.
Lightheaded and feeling weaker, she knew she had to stop her leg from bleeding. She figured she’d already lost too much blood and the only chance of survival would be to do something to stint the flow.
BJ unbuckled her belt, slipped it from the loops, snaked it under her leg, bringing it up and over the upper portion of her thigh, cinching it in place to add pressure and slow down the flow of blood. With her one good hand, she reached behind her back and under her shirt, beginning the difficult task of unfastening the catches on her bra. Frustrated at her futile attempts, her persistence eventually disconnected the hooks. The grueling task of slipping her injured arm out the rope and her sleeve, and finally through her bra strap, sapped most of her energy.
After completing the chore of redressing, BJ rested a moment. Feeling she didn’t have much conscious time left, she shoved the back portion of the bra under her leg. She grimaced when her hand came away wet and sticky. After pulling the remainder of the material up and over the gash, she grabbed her useless arm moving it onto her lap.
The fingers of her left hand held the larger portion of her bra over the cut adding as much pressure as she could.
Her breath came in gasps. Soaked with sweat, yet she was freezing. Shaky and weak, she wrapped the material around her leg again, tugged a little harder this time, making sure both ends would meet. They did, barely.
After she was sure everything was in place, she pushed the skin together as best she could before she added more pressure to the cloth. Steeling herself against the onslaught she knew would come, she yanked the straps up snuggly, crying out with the jarring pain. She prayed this would keep the gaping flesh closed and stop the blood flow. But her hands revealed the material was already saturated and oozing.
Exhausted, BJ leaned back against the railing, her head on one of the posts. Her body felt weightless, and strangely enough, she was happy and no longer afraid of the dark. For some reason nothing mattered, and she had the oddest feeling . . . she was going home.
Chapter 69
There’s Nate’s truck now. I told him not to open the crypt until we got here.” Jason didn’t like his gut feeling about BJ.
“Don’t worry. If she’s in there, she’ll be okay.”
“No, she won’t. If she hasn’t gone mad, she could be dying or already dead without medical help.” Jason jumped out of the police car, leaving the door open, running toward the crypt that held all the Lovelesses since Seth built the place. His long strides cut the distance, but not quick enough for his liking.
“I sure don’t know why you need in the crypt. Never know’d you to be one for visiting the dead.” The old grizzly cemetery keeper stood worrying the keys in his hand. “This be my day off. And now I’m here anyways. Well, let’s get on with it, Elba has dinner awaitin’.”
“Sorry, Nate. But if you would, let me open the gate and door.”