The scene stayed in.
—Z.B.
***
Macy Evans was grateful that she could breathe through her nose. The duct tape covering her mouth blocked part of her nostrils and pushed them up like a pig’s snout, she imagined. She smiled, or tried to, when she thought about Lucas making pig faces at her. She wondered if he won the spelling bee yesterday. Or was it the day before? Her memory wasn’t what it used to be.
The only light in the basement room came from a single overhead bulb. She could see a window high on the wall across from her, but it was covered over with cardboard, duct-taped. She had read that it originally was called “duck” tape, because it repelled water. Then people started using it to repair vents and air ducts. Now everyone called it “duct tape.”
Who in the world cares, Macy?
Bitsy, the name she gave her annoying inner voice, was talking. Bitsy was always reprimanding her and ordering her around. She didn’t tell her to do things like kidnap a middle-aged woman and lock her in a basement and cover her mouth with duct tape. No, she merely admonished her for foolish behavior—like when Macy tried to take up jogging again and sprained her ankle (You’re sixty years old, not twenty, for heaven’s sake!), or when she would have one too many glasses of wine (You laugh too loud when you’ve had three, Macy; it’s unbecoming.), or for feeling ignored by her husband (He loves you like crazy and works his ass off all day long!).
Shut up, Bitsy. Just leave me the hell alone. I’m the one tied up and you get to live in my head all the time. Safe and sound and self-righteous as all get-out.
She was sitting on a wooden, old-fashioned schoolroom chair, with her arms around the back of the chair, wrists taped, her feet and calves taped to its front legs.
She was naked from the waist down, except for her socks.
There was a hole in the seat of the chair with a bucket underneath it. “So you can pee,” he’d said. But he put a towel over her lap—for modesty’s sake, she figured.
He wore a hat and had a scarf wrapped around his face, so she could only see his eyes. His leather jacket was stylish, a brand Macy figured thirty-somethings would wear. He sounded young, too. He even sounded nice.
Nice! Are you crazy? Nice?
I know, I know. He’s not nice. He just sounded nice. He spoke quietly and he called me Mrs. Evans. He didn’t smell bad. His hands weren’t rough. He didn’t hurt me much. He didn’t rape me. I don’t think he enjoyed cutting my pants and panties off so that I could pee.
That just means he’s some sort of sexually repressed psycho. Stop thinking about how nice he was and figure out how you’re going to save yourself.
Why don’t you figure it out, little Miss Smartypants?
Macy shuddered. Not from the cold. An electric floor heater was keeping the room warm enough. Even her feet were fine, thanks to her socks. The cellar wasn’t huge. A utility sink, washer and dryer, a couple of big buckets, and a stack of cartons lined the walls.
Macy speculated why she was taken. She and Henry weren’t rich. Sure, they were comfortable, and Henry drove a Lexus, but they were strictly upper-middle class. They saved their money and would be ready to retire in another five years. It didn’t make any sense.
Is Henry panicked? He must be. He would have gotten home to find me gone, when normally I would be waiting for him, ready to go play doubles tennis at the club, like we always do on Tuesday evenings. We make a good team, with him a power server and me covering the net. Is he worried?
Of course. He’s devoted to you. He’s too good for you, you know.
Yes, Bitsy dear, you always remind me of that. Macy swallowed. Has Henry called Susan and Rob, wondering where she was? Are they concerned? Did they tell Lucas that Gramma Macy was missing? He’s only six. I hope not. Would Henry have called the police by now?
Maybe not yet. It has only been a couple of hours, probably, since that bastard kidnapped you. How stupid can you be? You know you’re supposed to stay alert in a dark parking lot.
Macy teared up. The man had grabbed her outside of the building where she worked as a copy editor for a publishing company. It was almost completely dark when she left the building at around five-thirty. The supposedly motion-sensitive parking-lot lights never worked correctly. It didn’t help that she forgot where she parked her car and ended up walking from one side of the building to the other, hunting for her keys in her purse the whole time. She was finally getting into her Ford Escort when the man grabbed her from behind and held a wet cloth over her mouth and nose. She passed out and woke up in this basement, when he was cutting her panties off. “So you can pee,” he’d said.
He hadn’t said anything else to her. His voice had been deep and resonant. Kind. A radio voice.
A sound behind her made her sit up straight. A key in the door.
Someone entered and shut it.
She took a deep breath.
Tip the chair over on him, Macy. Knock him over.
Then what? I’ll still be tied up and he’ll be mobile. Just shut up.
He’s going to kill you.
Shut up.
The man came around in front of her. Now the scarf and hat were gone. He was handsome, in a construction-worker sort of way. Short hair, muscular arms, not very tall. His hands were big with fingers that looked too small.
He squatted in front of her. “I’m going to pull the tape off. It’s going to hurt a bit. I’m sorry about that. But you have to promise me you won’t scream. If you scream, I’ll hit you.”
Macy nodded.
Scream as soon as it’s off, you hear me? Scream as loud as you can!
He stood up, peeled a corner of the tape away, and gave it a quick yank.
Macy gasped.
Scream!
“Thank you.”
Are you kidding me? You just thanked him? How stupid can you be?
“Do you want some water?”
Macy shook her head, staring at him. “Why am I here?”
The man looked at her for a moment, then turned away to get a large bucket. He placed it in front of her, turned it over, and sat on it.
“I have some bad news.”
The way he said that, so caring, in that comforting voice, made her throat close up and her breath short, and tears flooded her eyes and ran down her face.
“It’s your husband.”
He killed Henry! He killed him!
“Oh my God. Is he hurt? Did you hurt him? Did you kill him?”
The man closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, he’s fine. He’s alive. He’s not hurt.”
Macy whimpered and tried to control her breathing.
He’s lying!
“Please, just tell me.”
He leaned toward her. “He doesn’t love you. Not nearly enough.”
Macy recoiled, terrified. She felt sick. Her tears stopped and she held her breath.
You are going to die, Macy. I told you. Henry loves you more than anyone or anything in the whole world. This guy is very dangerous. He’s going to kill you.
Macy managed to speak. “How do you know Henry?” She didn’t recognize her own voice. It was lower than usual.
“I don’t, really, only met him once. But my wife knows him.” He paused. “Do you understand me? My wife knows him. Very well.”
Macy stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. “Your wife? Who is your wife?”
“Jocelyn Roberts.”
THAT’S what this is all about?
Macy took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve heard about your wife, Mr. Roberts, and I apologize for my husband. As it seems you know, he doesn’t like her, not one little bit.” Macy was finding some relief in talking. She managed a little smile. “He complains about her all the time. He has called her ‘meddling’ and a ‘know-it-all’; he thinks that promotion she got
was undeserved and that others in their department were better qualified.”
Good Lord, Macy! Don’t make him angry!
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is upsetting to you and to Jocelyn, but kidnapping me? Isn’t that taking your anger just a little bit too far?”
Roberts stared at Macy and sighed. “Mrs. Evans, you seem like a very nice woman. But you are a fool. Jocelyn and Henry have been sleeping together for six months. I heard them talking on the phone a few days ago. They’re planning on leaving for London this coming weekend.”
WHAT? That’s nonsense, Macy. Henry adores you. He hates that Jocelyn woman.
Shut up.
But…!
Shut up.
It hit her like the back of her father’s hand across her cheek. She knew in her gut that Mr. Roberts was telling her the truth. There were so many signs she had decided to ignore over the past year—no, really, over their whole marriage—that indicated infidelity. She knew he played around. She just didn’t want to know.
You can’t believe him, Macy. Don’t be stupid. Henry just bought you that diamond necklace. He loves you!
“SHUT UP!”
Roberts sat up with a jerk. Macy hadn’t realized she had shouted out loud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m a little freaked out at the moment.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Mr. Roberts…”
“Call me Carey.”
Don’t call him Carey, for heaven’s sake! He’s not your new best friend!
Macy coughed. “Carey. What did you do to my husband?”
“I gave him a choice.” Roberts stood up and walked away from Macy. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, flicked one out, stuck it in his mouth, and turned to her. “Want one?”
“Actually, yes.”
You don’t smoke, Macy! Not anymore!
“Today I smoke.”
Roberts gave her a little smile, then walked over and placed a cigarette in her mouth. He lit both. She took a drag and started coughing; the cigarette fell to the floor. He picked it up. “More?”
She nodded. “Could you untape one of my hands?”
He squinted at her, and then unwrapped the tape around her right wrist. She shook it out and took the cigarette from him. “Thanks.”
Throw it at him! Stick it in his eye! Get out of there!
“What was the choice?”
Roberts sat back down on the bucket. “I love Jocelyn, Mrs. Evans.”
“Call me Macy.”
Oh, great! Let’s friend each other on Facebook, too!
He smiled. “I love Jocelyn, and we’ve been married just three years. I would do anything for her. When I found out about her and Henry, well, I knew it was all over for me. But I had to know how serious it was. After I kidnapped you, I went to your house. I was waiting for him when he got home.”
Macy took a drag. “I still don’t understand.”
“I have a gun”—he patted the side of his jacket—“and I pointed it at him. I told him I had you—I gave him your purse as proof—and that the address of this place was written on a piece of paper in my pocket. I showed it to him.” He pulled it out and held it in front of her, then put it back.
“I’m only a couple of blocks away?”
He nodded. “A friend’s house. I’m feeding the cat while he’s on vacation. Anyway, I said that I would give him the gun and he could shoot me and rescue you, or that I would come back here and kill you, and he could live the rest of his life with Jocelyn.”
Macy froze. They stared at each other.
He’s lying, Macy. He’s killed Henry. You have a hand free. You need to get away.
“He didn’t shoot you.”
Roberts shook his head.
“Oh, God.” Macy dropped her cigarette on the floor and dropped her chin to her chest. Heaving sobs rolled up out of her chest. Her free hand rubbed the back of her head, as though she was trying to comfort herself, like her nanny used to do.
“What did Henry say, exactly?” She was choking these words out of her mouth.
“He said, ‘Get out of my house and take that gun with you.’” Roberts ground out her cigarette with the heel of his boot.
Get it together, Macy. You’re about to be killed. I told you. You can’t believe all of this. You have to get out!
She lifted her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You would rather die than live without your wife?”
He shrugged. “My gun? It wasn’t loaded.” He took it out of his pocket, pointed it at the wall to his left, and pulled the trigger. Just a click.
Macy stared at him. “So…?”
“So now I know he really loves my wife. And now you know he doesn’t really love you.”
Macy’s shaking became more severe and her breathing was more like gasping. “Mr. Roberts, this is a bit extreme, don’t you think? You’ve kidnapped me and threatened my husband with a gun, all because your wife is having an affair? And now you’re going to kill me?”
I told you, Macy. You should have burned him with the cigarette.
Roberts stuck the pistol back in his pocket. “No. I don’t think I will.” He rubbed out his cigarette on the floor.
Macy felt like she was going to vomit. She was hyperventilating now, and folded as far as she could over her knees. Roberts reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
Macy jolted back up. “Do not touch me, Mr. Roberts. I do not want your sympathy.”
Roberts nodded and pulled back. “I understand.”
Macy leaned over her knees again until she got control of her breathing. Then she sat up. “Water, please.”
Roberts walked over to the sink and filled a glass jar with water. He brought it back to her, and Macy drank in big gulps.
Throw the jar at him!
Shut up, Bitsy! It wouldn’t knock him out. It would only piss him off.
She handed the jar back to Roberts. “Why keep me tied up any longer? You found out what you needed to know. You said you aren’t going to kill me. So, you can let me go now. Please, Carey. I’ll go home and pack my things and head over to my daughter’s house. I’ll tell her what happened, and then I’ll call the police. That will give you time to get away. You must have a getaway plan, don’t you?”
Roberts held his smile fixed on his face. “Something like that.”
“So, that’s what we’ll do.”
He kept his gaze on Macy for a moment, and then looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. Then he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the gun and a handful of bullets, and started loading his pistol.
I told you! He’s going to kill you!
“Please, Mr. Roberts,” Macy begged. “Carey, please, you said you wouldn’t kill me. I don’t want anything but for you to get away, now, for us both to be all right…”
“I’m not going to kill you,” he interrupted her. “You’re going to kill me.”
This guy is crazy, Macy. You’ll have to get the gun and then run. Just get out of there.
Macy stared at him. “What? Kill you? Why? I don’t want to kill you. I don’t think you can make me do that.”
He smiled. “Now you have a choice. Kill me, or I kill you. Same choice I gave your husband, only this time,” he waved the gun, “it’s for real.”
“Mr. Roberts, I think you have gone mad.”
“I think you’re right.”
Do it, Macy. Agree with him. He’ll hand you the gun, then shoot him. It will be self-defense.
Macy frowned. “Jocelyn can’t be worth dying over. I certainly don’t want to become a murderer because of her.”
Roberts stood up in the middle of Macy’s protests, took off his jacket and tossed it on top of the washing machine. “You won’t be murdering me. You’ll be killing me in self-defens
e.”
I told you so! You have no choice! Just do what he says!
Macy closed her eyes. “Mr. Roberts, you must be too much of a coward to shoot yourself, seeing as how you want to die so badly.”
He spun around, walked briskly to her, and leaned over her, putting both of his hands on her shoulders, glaring at her with wild eyes. “I am not a coward!” He sat back down on the bucket. “Suicide is a sin.”
Macy burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Kidnapping and shooting people are okay, but suicide isn’t? What are you, Catholic?”
He slapped her hard, across the face.
Macy choked on her laugh, and new tears sprang to her eyes. She turned her head away from him, trying to find her breath.
Jesus, Macy, will you just listen to me? Do what he says!
I will not shoot this man.
Just like Henry wouldn’t shoot him?
I wouldn’t be saving Henry.
Macy and Roberts were quiet for a few moments until Macy finally turned back to face him. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jeesh. Yeah, he’s real sorry. He’s so sorry that he’s going to blow your head off in a minute if you don’t wise up.
“I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Roberts, so if you’re going to shoot me, you might as well get it over with.”
Are you insane? He’ll do it!
He nodded at her. “I figured it was a long odds, you killing me. You’d probably hit me in the leg or something anyway, even if you did shoot.”
“So, what was your Plan B?”
Roberts stood up and looked down at Macy. She kept smiling and reached for his arm, like she would comfort a colleague at work.
He backed away from her, put the gun to his temple, and fired.
Macy had never seen so much blood. It was quickly spreading out over the floor. It had spattered on the front of the washing machine. She was gasping for breath, staring at dead, bloody Carey Roberts.
The puddle grew and crept toward her. She pushed against the floor with her feet to move the chair back. Then she started screaming. “HEEELLLLP! SOMEONE! HELP ME!”
You are so lucky that he’s dead and you’re not. Stop screaming like a howler monkey.
Bound by Mystery Page 35