by Geof Johnson
“Guess we’ll find out.”
Chapter 22
Jamie filled Rollie in on the situation as they rode to school. Rollie’s normally cheerful face looked grim.
“Dude,” Rollie said. “How could this happen? This is Hendersonville, man. This kinda stuff happens to other people…people, like in…New York of L.A. or some place.”
Jamie didn’t answer. His head buzzed from all of the coffee he’d drunk to offset the lack of sleep, and his eyes felt dry and grainy.
Rollie rubbed his face with one hand. “What are we gonna do? We gotta do something.”
“I wanted to skip school and search for her, but my parents wouldn’t let me. They’re trying to keep me from panicking, but it’s too late for that.” He sucked in his breath through his teeth. “I’m gonna go out looking for her again after school if she’s still missing.” Please let her turn up before then.
“I’m going with you.”
“I thought you had basketball practice.”
Rollie gave him a level look. “Dude, this is Fred we’re talkin’ about. Coach can kick me off the team if he wants.”
Jamie knew how much basketball meant to Rollie, how hard he’d worked toward this season. Jamie had to swallow hard to get the lump down in his throat before answering. “Thanks, Buddy.”
“We’ll find her,” Rollie said firmly. “I know it. So don’t worry about it.”
* * *
Jamie trudged through the crowded hall toward his locker, not seeing the faces around him until Melanie caught up with him. “Jamie, have you seen Fred?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been calling her and texting her like crazy, but she won’t answer.”
Jamie walked on without looking at her.
She grabbed his arm to stop him. “Jamie, did you hear me? Where’s Fred?”
“I dunno.” He glanced at her and quickly looked away. Please don’t ask any more about her.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t she ride to school with you?”
“No.” And that’s the truth.
“Is she sick?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Then why isn’t she at school?”
“Look Melanie, I really don’t know,” he snapped. “Okay?”
He walked away without looking back.
* * *
Fred woke with a pounding headache, a hammer-to-the-back-of-the-skull kind, and her mouth felt like it was lined with toxic dust. It was daylight, and she was lying on her back on a bed.
Where am I? She started to sit up, but when her stomach tried to cartwheel out of her mouth, she lay back down for a moment, taking short, shallow breaths. Uh. Hope I don’t puke. She waited until the room stopped spinning and tried again, raising her head slowly, finally propping up on her elbows to look around.
She was in a sparsely furnished room. Must be somebody’s house. There was only one window. It had white curtains, which were closed, and was set near the far corner of the wall on her right. On her left, the wall opposite the window, was a closet, a plain wooden dresser, a wash stand, and a bedside table next to her with a small lamp. There was a door on the far wall, closed, with an old-fashioned metal doorknob. A big white ceramic-coated pot that looked like a planter sat on the floor beside the bed; a wide board covered the top. The plain cast iron bed frame had been painted black once, but probably not during Fred’s lifetime. She pushed her legs over the left side of the bed and felt something hard against her left ankle and heard the clank of metal.
She looked down and saw a steel fetter cuffed around her ankle, with a heavy chain attached to it, running to the bottom of the left post at the foot of the bed. You gotta be kidding me. She grabbed the chain with her hand and gave it a hard yank, but it held fast. This is like a horror movie. I’m really in trouble.
“Hey,” she called. When she got no answer, she tried again, louder. “Hey! Anybody home?’ The house was silent.
Maybe I can get somebody’s attention out the window. She cautiously stood, shaky at first, right hand on the bed for support, and crept across the wooden floor. She only made it a few steps before the chain at her ankle ran out of slack, leaving her several feet short. She tried to drag the bed toward the window, but it wouldn’t budge. The posts were firmly anchored to the floor with angled straps of metal. Can’t reach the door, either, she realized gravely. It’s even worse than I thought.
She sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed her face with her hands as her pulse quickened; her breath was ragged. What am I gonna do? What’s gonna happen to me? She dropped her hands and cried, “Jamie! Jamie, help me!”
She fell back on the bed and wept.
* * *
It was midafternoon when Fred heard the door creak open. She sat up warily as the two women who abducted her entered, each holding a cigarette and wearing awkward smiles.
In the light, Fred got a better look at them. They both were older than her parents. The blonde wore a ridiculous leather miniskirt and a staggering amount of makeup. The shorter woman had the fakest-looking red hair Fred had ever seen (with gray roots, Fred noted), was pudgy, and dressed more appropriately for her age, but only just.
“Good morning,” the blonde said cheerily.
It’s afternoon, Fred said to herself, eyeing them wordlessly as she swung her legs to the side of the bed.
“Did you sleep okay?” the other woman said in a cigarette-roughened voice.
Fred glowered at them, flapping her hand in front of her face.
“Does the smoke bother you?” the blonde asked.
Fred continued flapping her hand and scowling. The blonde turned to the red head. “Gimme your smoke.” She took the cigarette from her and disappeared into the hall. A moment later, Fred heard a toilet flush and the woman reappeared.
“Well, Grace Mary,” the other woman said, “I think it’s time to make some introductions. My name is Rita, and this is Cassandra.” The blonde flashed a toothy smile.
“You’re probably wondering why we brought you here,” Cassandra said.
No kidding? What gave you that idea?
“You see, Grace Mary, or is it Fred?” Rita said.
“It’s Fred.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, you see, we have a very good reason for doing that, and we’ll tell you soon as you get to know us a little better.”
“Are you gonna turn me into a prostitute?”
Cassandra laughed and flipped one hand. “Oh no, not unless you want to be one.”
Rita shot Cassandra a sharp glance and continued, “Anyway, we don’t mean you any harm. Honest. It’s just —”
“You’ve got me chained to a bed!” Fred shouted, but winced at the sharp pain in her skull.
“Well, yes, but that’s only temporary. We’ll set you free real soon, just as soon as —”
“I want to go home.”
Rita pressed her mouth into a thin line, and looked at Cassandra, who said, “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, can we get you something?”
“A hacksaw and a cell phone would be nice.”
Cassandra snorted a laugh and put her hand to her face. “That’s a good one. But really…are you hungry or thirsty?”
Fred opened her mouth for a sharp retort, but realized her stomach felt empty and some water might rinse the foul taste from her mouth. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “A glass of water and some toast or something.” I don’t know if I could hold down much more right now. “And I need to use the bathroom.”
Rita pointed to the pot next to Fred’s feet.
“You’re kidding, right?” Fred said.
“No,” Rita said. “If we unchain you to go to the bathroom, you might run off.”
You bet your booties I will. “I’m not peeing in that!” Fred glanced at the pot.
“It’ll be fine. That’s what people used in the old days.”
“This isn’t the old days.”
“Tough,” Rita said curtly, obviously growing annoyed.
“Use the pot or wet yourself.”
Cassandra stepped closer. “It’ll be okay, Grace Mary, I mean, Fred. I used to use one at my grandma’s house when I was little. It’s not so bad. I’ll dump it out for you and everything.” She flashed a hopeful smile.
This is getting worse by the minute. Fred eyed the pot, then looked back at the women. “How about toilet paper?”
“Oh, we forgot. I’ll bring you some.”
“And how am I supposed to take a bath?”
“Use this.” Rita pointed to the wash stand.
“No way.”
Rita clenched her jaw for a moment before continuing, “Use it or stink, it’s all the same to me.” She turned and stomped out of the room, leaving Cassandra behind,
Cassandra winced, clenching and unclenching one long-nailed hand. “It’ll be fine, Honey. I’ll help you wash your hair. I’ll bring in a big tub. It’ll be fun.”
Oh. Loads of giggles. “And how about clean clothes…and deodorant and stuff? I don’t have anything but this.” She pulled at the hem of her dress.
“Oh, damn.” Cassandra scratched her jaw. “We didn’t think about that. I’ll run to the store and get you some panties and toothpaste and stuff, and…and maybe you can wear some of Izzy’s old dresses.”
“Who’s Izzy/”
“Isabelle. She was our other witch, but she died. That’s why you’re here.” Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes grew wide. “Damn. Shouldn’t a’ said that. Anyway, I’ll run to the store right now. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
How could I? Fred watched the tall woman leave. She stared at the closed door, her heart racing. They’re witches? What do they want with me?
* * *
Rita was sitting at the big table, staring out the window, smoking and fuming, when Cassandra came out of Fred’s room. “Whoo!” Cassandra said. “She’s a feisty one.”
“A little too feisty, in my opinion.”
“No, she’s got spark. We don’t want a little weenie wall-flower, do we? Besides, Izzy had more pluck than you and me put together, and that worked out fine.”
“We don’t need another Izzy. We just need a good witch.”
“Well, I like her. I think she’s gonna be great.” She picked up her purse from the table and pulled out the car keys.
“Where are you going?”
“I gotta run to the store and get her some things…underwear and stuff.”
“Are you her little errand-girl now?”
Cassandra put one hand on her hip. “No, I’m not. She’s got nothing — no panties, no deodorant, no soap — nothing. Do you want to give her some of yours?”
Rita blew a stream of smoke toward the open window. “No, ’course not.”
“Then quit bitchin’. And try to be nice to her, Rita. You didn’t exactly get off to a good start with her.”
“No.” I really didn’t. I didn’t mean to snap. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Well…do me a favor and don’t go in there while I’m gone. At least not ’till you get more sleep.”
Rita nodded absently, and Cassandra left.
* * *
Carl leaned against a telephone pole, closed his eyes, and let out a long, deep sigh. Man I’m tired. My feet hurt, too. He’d been canvassing their neighborhood since sunup, along with two other officers, trying to find a lead, but so far, he didn’t have much. The only neighbor who had anything to offer was Mrs. Wysoki, the busy-body widow who lived two doors down from Fred. She said she saw a dark, older model car, parked on the street in front of her house the previous night, but she couldn’t tell what color or make it was, and she didn’t remember seeing anybody in it.
That’ll make a good all-points bulletin. Be on the lookout for an old dark car. He rubbed the back of his aching neck and grimaced. Maybe I’d better go down to the station again. I’ll come back to the neighborhood later when everybody’s home from work.
* * *
Jamie pulled the car into his driveway beside the big white Buick, and Rollie said, “Looks like your Gramma’s here. Think she brought brownies?”
“Dang, Rollie. Fred’s missing, and you’re thinking about food?”
“Sorry, Dude. I’m like Pavlov’s dog. I see your Gramma and my stomach growls.” Rollie opened the passenger door with his backpack in hand. “I’m gonna drop my stuff at my house and meet you at Fred’s.”
Jamie was already out of the car and heading across the street, eyes on the Callahan’s house; a car, a black sedan that he didn’t recognize, was parked in their driveway.
He knocked on their front door and waited for a moment, but was surprised when Aunt Connie opened it. “Come in, Jamie,” she said, holding it wide for him. “It’s kind of crazy in here.”
Jamie stepped inside to see a room full of people. His mother sat on the couch with Lisa, her arm over Lisa’s shoulders, talking quietly. Lisa’s eyes were red and puffy, her face pale.
Two serious-looking men in suits were setting up some kind of equipment — a laptop plugged into a black box with wires snaking away from it.
Jamie’s grandmother stepped out of the kitchen, wearing an apron and pulling off an oven mitt. She came to him and put her arms around him, patting his back as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. But don’t worry. You’re father and these men are working hard to find her.”
He stepped back from her embrace. “Are you cooking?” Dumb question, he realized as the words came out of his mouth.
“Lisa’s too upset right now. Your mother is, too. Connie and I are going to take care of things for awhile.”
Good ol’ Gramma. “Who are these guys? Don’t they work with my dad?” He gestured at the men with Larry.
“They’re setting up equipment so they can trace the call if the kidnappers get in touch.”
“Kidnappers,” Jamie said blankly.
“It’s an ugly word, isn’t it? But that’s what they think it is — a kidnapping.”
“Where’s Mr. Callahan?”
“He’s driving around, looking for Fred. He’s been out since last night.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s at the station, working the phones, but he’s coming here tonight. He’s going to sleep on their couch.”
“Why?”
“Somebody needs to be here twenty-four hours a day in case the kidnappers call. These other detectives will take turns, but your father wants to stay overnight.”
Jamie looked at the couch and tried to picture his father stretched out on it, fluffing his pillow to try and get comfortable, his back sore in the morning from sleeping poorly. His face lined and tired. And determined.
His grandmother must’ve read his mind because she said, “Your father is working like a madman right now. I don’t think he’s going to rest until Fred’s home, safe and sound.”
“Me either,” Jamie said defiantly. “I’m gonna go look now and Rollie’s gonna help. I’ll search all night if I have to.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “That’s good, but you need to get your sleep, too.”
“Gramma, no! I need to —”
“Jamie, listen to me. Our best hope of finding Fred right now is if she can get in touch with you in a dream. Then she might be able to tell us where she is.”
“Uh…I hadn’t thought of that.” He grimaced sheepishly. “I’m just…I dunno.” He rubbed one hand over his eyes.
“You’re tired and angry and frustrated. We all are.”
“I’m angry, all right.” He gritted his teeth. “Whoever took Fred…I wanna kill ’em!”
“But you won’t, will you? You’re not that kind of boy.”
“No.” He shook his head slowly and looked at his feet for a moment. “But I can fantasize about it, can’t I?”
She gave him a little smile and said in a low voice. “Of course. I doubt you’re the only one who does.”
Chapter 23
Rita found Cassandra in her bedroom, changing clothes. “Cass, you’re not
going out again, are you?”
Cassandra raised her arms and wiggled a deep blue satin blouse over her head, pulling it into place as she spoke. “I’m going up to the Screw.”
“I’m going too.”
“Somebody’s gotta stay here with Fred.”
“Then you do it.”
“I think I should to go. We gotta sell some stuff real bad, ’cause we’re low on cash, and I’m way better at it than you.”
“I can sell.”
Cassandra struggled into a pair of too-tight jeans, wincing as she tugged them up. “Not like me. You should stay here and fix some food for Fred.”
“Oh, I’m the cook now? How come I got appointed caretaker?”
“Aw, Rita, it won’t be so bad. You can watch TV and drink some of that Jack Daniels I just bought for you.”
“Well…thanks for getting that.” She rubbed the side of her nose with one fingertip as she watched Cassandra slip on a pair of brilliant red heels that matched her nail polish. “But what am I gonna feed her?”
“Heat up one of them microwave dinners I bought. You can handle that.”
“Dammit…okay, fine.” She turned and went to the kitchen. She yanked open the freezer door and pulled out a cardboard pack of something with chicken in it — she didn’t look closely — shoved it in the microwave without bothering to read the directions and turned it on. While waiting for it to cook, she lit another cigarette, leaned against the counter and stared blankly at the opposite wall.
We need a better plan than this, she thought. Some kind of schedule for taking turns with her. I’m not staying home every night while Cass goes off to the bar.
She finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the sink, then pulled the dinner from the microwave. Something smells burnt. Musta overcooked it a little. She pulled the lid back and wrinkled her nose. Uh. It’ll be good enough. She grabbed a plastic fork from the drawer and a folding TV table from beside the pantry and headed for Fred’s room. She picked up the voodoo doll from the big table on her way and dropped it into the pocket of her dress. Might need this.
Fred was lying on the bed, bedside lamp on, hands behind her head, when Rita entered the room. Rita set the little folding table up and said, “Brought you something to eat.”