Her plan to leave was definitely interrupted. Just how badly, she didn’t know and wouldn’t know until she reached work. She hoped her plan wouldn’t have to be postponed. Now that her mind was made up, she didn’t want to have to rethink it, even if it was just the timing of it. She shook her head as she drove down the last leg of Lake Shore Drive, still in disbelief of what was happening.
Fire trucks lined Randolph and State streets. She pulled her car behind one of them and headed toward the store. The air was thick with the smell of smoke. All roads leading to the store had been blocked off, several firemen stood around, and a dozen or so policemen kept pedestrians from getting too close to the building. The noise from the police car and fire truck sirens was deafening.
She was stopped by one of the firemen. He held out his arm in front of her. “You can’t go in there, Miss.”
“My name is Marie Marchetti, and I’m the store manager.”
“Come this way.”
Marie followed him a hundred feet to where three other firemen were gathered.
“This lady is in charge,” he said to the fireman who appeared to be the oldest.
The fireman took her arm and escorted her into the parking garage across the street from the store where it was quieter. He introduced himself as Captain Doyle and explained the fire had broken out in the basement and had been contained there. It was now extinguished, and his crew was checking for possible heat buildup in the walls.
The fire truck sirens were still blaring, and Marie had to practically shout to be heard.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Not that we know of. We evacuated the entire store, and no one reported anyone missing.”
“Do you know what caused it?”
The fireman shook his head. “Not yet. There will be another crew in here after we give the go-ahead, and they’ll figure it out…along with your insurance company. We’ll need you to stick around.”
Marie nodded.
Two firemen approached them. “Everything’s clear, Captain.”
The Captain turned to Marie. “Where can I find you if I need to?”
“Can I go in the store?”
“You can go in, but you can’t open the store for business. Too much smoke, and I suspect the first floor is a mess with all my men traipsing through there with hoses.”
“Well, I’ll be here as long as I’m needed…either on the first floor or in my office on three. I have to call the insurance company and let the board of directors know what’s going on.”
Marie was about to cross the street when she remembered Esther. She walked half a block to the coffee shop where Esther had made the call. She ran out the door and hugged Marie.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she sobbed.
As Marie hugged her shaking body, she was thankful she decided to pick up the phone when Esther called. “Calm down, Esther. Everything is all right. We’ve been cleared to go inside.” She took Esther’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s go check out the damage.”
Expecting the worse, Marie was pleasantly surprised to find that while there was damage on the first floor, it appeared to be superficial.
“Esther, why don’t you take a look around and make a list of the obvious things that need to be done? I’ll be in my office making a few phone calls.”
When Marie returned to the first floor a half hour later, Esther was writing on a tablet of paper.
She handed it to Marie. “Here’s what I came up with, at least for starters. And by the way, Martin is here.”
They tracked down Martin and went into the basement where they were met by the captain and several other firemen. The captain explained to them their plan of action for the next twenty-four hours and what Marshall Field’s needed to do on its part. While they still had to finish their investigation, he said he was quite sure the fire had been caused by faulty electrical wires.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been through this before when I was at Carson’s,” Martin said, referring to Carson Pirie Scott & Company, a competing department store. “Marie, I know you’re on vacation, so if you want to go, I can handle things.”
She wasn’t about to leave him with the horrific mess. “How’s your wife, Martin?”
“She’s fine. And so is my new daughter, Eleanor. They’re both fine, and my wife’s sister and mother are with them. What about Bakersfield?”
“I was able to reach him. He’s going to call the other board members and then come down here himself. You know him, right?”
“Yeah. I know him well enough.”
“Well, let’s take a look around the basement and see just how bad it is.”
With the electricity turned off, they had to feel their way down the stairs. The smell of smoke and burnt debris worsened the farther they got down into the bowels of the basement. They waded through pools of water that had no other place to go. The worse fire, smoke, and water damage was centered in the woodshop, where the smell was so strong, they decided not to go in.
Back on the first floor, Marie and Martin made sure all the doors to the store were secured while Ester made signs indicating the store was closed due to a fire. Then they combed each floor making sure no one was still there.
Marie, Martin, and Esther met in Marie’s office to formulate a game plan for alerting staff as to what to expect during the next forty-eight hours. They talked about the cleanup and restoration processes, much of which Martin said the insurance company would coordinate.
“I can’t leave you alone to handle this, Martin, especially with a new baby to consider. I’m going to stay and help.”
Martin held up his hand. “No, you’re not. Believe me, I can handle this. It looks bad now, but the fire was really contained in the wood shop. The rest of this mess won’t be difficult. I insist you go.”
Reluctantly, but silently relieved at Martin’s insistence, Marie left the store for the parking garage. It was four-thirty. She drove home and into the alley behind her house to pick up the rest of her things. She was several hours behind her original schedule but still on a reasonable track. Next stop, the Ashton Hotel, a small obscure hotel outside of city limits where she could hide out until Saturday.
Marie entered the side door and walked toward the front of the house to have one last look around.
At first she thought the voices were a figment of her imagination. Then one stood out. “It’s not enough. Not worth our time.” She froze.
Another voice rose above the others. “Make it twenty big ones then. I don’t give a fuck. It’s Fiefield’s money.”
After standing in the kitchen for several seconds, some unexplained force summoned her to the living room.
Three uniformed policemen and several dark suited men were seated around the room, with Richard in the middle. Two large plain brown boxes were stacked one on top of the other in the corner. Papers were strewn on the coffee table.
As soon as they saw her, each man’s right hand quickly traveled to his side. Brian Murphy, the policeman from across the street, had his gun drawn before the others. Drawn and cocked.
Richard raced across the room to her side, grabbed her arm, and yanked her into the kitchen. His grip was tight, but his jaw was even tighter. He opened the basement door and pushed her inside onto the small landing, closing the door behind them. Despite the dark, Marie saw the rage in his face.
He held on to her arm for a couple of seconds. She felt him shaking. He looked at her with piercing eyes, his pupils like pistols, his forehead deeply furrowed. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he snarled through clenched teeth, barely moving his lips. Before he continued, someone called out to him. He froze while the other man spoke.
“Hey, Med Man. You need to take care of business!” he shouted. The haunting sound of their maniacal laughter penetrated the door.
“What are you doing?” Marie’s voice was barely audible.
Richard’s voice was low and vibrated with anger. “Now look what you’ve done, you stupid cunt.” I
f he had spat on her, she wouldn’t have felt any more violated then she did at that moment. “Big mistake, sweetheart. Big mistake. Stay here ’til I come get you.” With that he released her arm with a shove and retreated to the kitchen without looking back, locking the basement door behind him.
Marie took a step backward, trying to steady herself from his shove, but the heel of her shoe went past the edge of the landing, and she lost her balance.
Her powerless body tumbled down the flight of concrete stairs like a rag doll’s, propelling her downward until she finally landed in a heap on the basement floor. She stayed there for a full minute, stunned and too scared to move. At first she couldn’t believe what just happened. No matter how enraged Richard was at her unexpected appearance, no matter what kind of shady deal he and his cohorts were transacting, how could he talk to her like that? And then push her down the stairs? She had to get out of there, but not before she knew where everyone was.
She touched her left temple with trembling fingers and winced from the pain. She put her other hand on her heaving chest in an effort to steady her fast irregular breathing.
Their muffled voices floated down the stairs. While she couldn’t make out what they were saying, the agitation in their speech was unmistakable. She gulped, and in doing so, gagged on the amount of air she had taken in. She quickly exhaled and then screamed out silently in pain as she tried to maneuver her lead-like legs.
Feet tucked up under her butt, Marie braced herself with her hands palms-down on the floor and positioned herself into a squat. She held that position as long as she could and then proceeded to stand up, holding on to the wall for support. But her legs were weak, too weak to hold her weight. She fell to her knees on the first step.
The voices coming from the first floor sounded like a swarm of aroused bees. Everyone was talking over each other. She crawled up the stairs. The volume grew louder the closer she got to the top. Marie listened tensely.
“Y’know this is potzo, Med Man. If one detail is screwed up, we’re all fucked!”
The gash on her forehead throbbed like a drum. She strained to make out their words.
“I told you we never should have met here.”
“Who knows what that little WOP bitch heard. She needs to be offed.”
“Calm down, Doves. I’ll take care of it.” It was Richard’s voice.
“I can take care of it right now!” someone else barked. His retort was followed by three sharp thumps.
“She doesn’t know anything,” Richard said.
“You don’t know what she knows, asshole. You thought she was in North Carolina for fuck’s sake!”
Marie clenched her eyes. She wondered if Richard even realized she had fallen off the landing when he pushed her. It didn’t matter.
“Trust me, Teets. I’ll take care of it.”
“You better. There’s too much shit at stake here.”
Marie eased herself back down the stairs and made another attempt to stand up, this time successfully. She turned around and looked into the dank shadowy basement. There were three windows, one on each side of the house and one facing the back. She walked toward the one nearest to her, the one facing the Russian couple’s house. She stood on her tiptoes and peered out at the thick forsythia bushes planted close to the house.
The collective sound of footsteps above told her Richard’s “guests” were still there. She tried not to think about her battered body as she stretched to unlock the window. Then she dragged a box up under it, boosted herself up, and poked her head out into the cool wet air.
The window pressed heavy against the back of her neck, causing her to recoil. She grabbed onto the ledge of the window with both hands and pulled herself up further, the window scraping her already bruised upper back. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could clear the bottom of the window with her chest.
She raised herself further out of the window opening, the weight of the window on her back now impeding her breathing. A sudden surge of energy gave her the necessary leverage to raise herself high enough to wedge her elbows in the dirt.
She hung there for a brief moment, long enough to catch her breath, and then with a residual surge of adrenaline, raised one knee up into the window frame, enough to pry her body completely out of the window and into the eighteen-inch gap between the bushes and the house. She lay face down in the dirt, completely concealed by the bushes, until she caught her breath again.
The strong smell of the damp earth penetrated her nostrils. She closed her eyes, trying to get up enough strength to move on.
Marie inched her way on her belly toward the alley. Too far to the left and the prickly branches scraped her face. Too far to the right, and she had to contend with the rough surface of the concrete foundation. She stopped to rest every few feet.
When she reached the end of the house, twenty feet of open yard stood between her and the garage. She listened for voices or footsteps or any noise at all, but the only sound she heard was from an occasional car going by the front of the house.
The angered muscles in her stomach clenched until they burned. She raised herself up into a crouched position, caught ten more seconds of silence, and then, like a soldier looking for the safety of a bunker, bolted toward the garage, flinging herself in between the evergreen trees and the side of the garage. She stood there, pinned against the wooden structure, trying to repel the pungent odor of the pine needles.
She wiggled her way to the end of the garage and peered out into the alley. Her car was no more than fifty feet away. Her purse was on the front seat, but she couldn’t remember if she had locked her car door, and her keys were somewhere on the kitchen floor.
It was hard to think rationally while she cowered in the bushes like a scared rabbit, her knees barely strong enough to hold up her weight. It made sense to her to hightail it out of there immediately, but she didn’t want to leave without her purse and keys.
Amid crises, try to find normalcy, and you’ll survive. She tried to remember who told her that once. She closed her eyes and hoped it would empower her to find the normalcy in what she was doing right now.
She crept toward her car, put her hand on the door handle, and pressed down. Thank God. She grabbed her purse and slipped back into the shadows of their garage. She thought about running to a neighbor’s house for help, but didn’t know anyone that well, not as well as Richard did.
Marie pictured the police station on Clark Street, but if that was where Brian Murphy from across the street worked, it would clearly be the end for her. In her current thinking, they were one in the same, Richard and dirty cops.
Cursing herself for not leaving him sooner, she desperately wanted to get back in the house for her keys and all her things still in the pantry, but the only way to do that would be to confront Richard or wait until he left the house and then break in. She was too afraid to confront him.
I can’t wait around here. He could find me missing any minute and come looking.
A door slammed, and she instinctively bolted into the alley and started walking. The sun was low in the sky and, coupled with the heavy rain clouds and dense fog, it provided for low visibility.
A large shadowy image came toward her. She stooped down and pretended to tie her shoe, her head bent down, but her eyes fully aware of what was going on around her. The seconds dragged. Marie heaved an audible sigh as the car drove by without stopping. She continued toward Southport Avenue. A dog barked from somewhere close, causing her heart to beat even faster.
When she was just a few yards from Southport, she heard him bellow her name. “MARIE!” The silence in the neighborhood left in the wake of his roar was deafening. She turned right on to Southport. She pictured him standing on their front porch, not more than a hundred yards away. She felt his eyes on her back, right through the houses and trees. She made another right into the alley behind the houses on the opposite side of the street from theirs.
Then she crossed Clark Street and entered Graceland Cemeter
y.
Marie was somewhat familiar with the cemetery grounds with its distinct sections of graves, each section surrounded by dense woods. It measured at least a mile on each side. She used to insist she and Richard cross the street when they walked by it, especially at night. But not this night. This night it would be her refuge.
She was at the south end of the grounds, in the middle of hundreds of graves, the only light provided by some of the taller surrounding buildings. She walked briskly toward the center of the grounds where the woods cut in, trying not to trip on any of the flat grave markers.
By the time she reached the thickest section of trees, the atmosphere was damp and dark. The wet vine-choked floor of the woods was uneven and covered in debris. With no path to follow, she stumbled every few steps, her legs seemingly having a mind of their own. The thorny shrubs that tore at her ankles left behind a striped pattern of razor-thin tears on her skin.
Her throat was as dry as parchment, making it difficult to swallow. She wasn’t sure if the pain in her stomach was due to fear or an injury caused by her fall down the stairs. She hoped it was fear. Constantly looking over her shoulder as she snaked her way through the brush, her thoughts concentrated on where Richard might be and what he might do to her if he found her.
She was making fairly good progress when her feet got tangled up in some fallen branches, causing her to trip. Sprawled out on the floor of the woods like a wet dishrag, she lay face down for several seconds. The earth was cold and wet against her cheek, and she could taste the decayed debris that saturated the soil. She strained her ears for sounds, but the woods offered little more than an eerie silence.
Weary but determined, Marie pulled herself up, brushed herself off, and continued. She stopped every hundred feet or so to rest, her world collapsing a little more with each step. Her mind wandered. By Monday, her co-workers would be wondering where she was. And if Martin needed her before then, he would surely call the house. What would Richard say to them?
The Coach House Page 17