by Susan Gnucci
Gradually, she came to the conclusion she was alone, at least for the moment, so she tried to focus on her predicament. She was alive, that much was evident by the headache that plagued her. At least he hadn’t killed her outright, and he’d had ample opportunity to do so. So why hadn’t he?
When she shifted her weight, she became aware of the fact she was lying on an old, stained mattress in one corner of the room. That would account for the damp, musty smell. When she realized there was no bedding, she hugged herself, suddenly aware of being chilled. Taking care not to lift her head, she scanned the room as best she could. It was a typical undeveloped basement – concrete floors, unfinished drywall, and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. From her vantage point on the mattress, she had a direct view of the door which she naturally assumed was locked. The only other furniture besides the lumpy mattress upon which she lay was a single chair placed in the center of the room. She feebly groped around on the mattress for her book bag before realizing, of course, it wouldn’t be there.
In the opposite corner of the room, she spied a laundry sink and a toilet, the sight of which gave her immeasurable relief, for almost as strong as her panic was her mortification at the simple fact she had to pee…urgently. The only trouble was she couldn’t raise her head without feeling like she was going to pass out, so that would have to wait for now. To distract herself, she went over the sequence of events leading up to her abduction. Realizing he hadn’t taken her watch, she was able to check the time. One o’clock. Counting backward, she came to the conclusion she’d been unconscious for at least fourteen hours. Not knowing what he’d drugged her with or the dosage, she had no way of knowing if she had already slept away a full day or possibly even more.
She remembered with dismay that the blow to the back of her head had not caused her blackout – she’d been drugged. She remembered all too well the sting on her arm and the distorting effects of the drug before the blackness had taken her. In examining her arm, she noted tenderness at the injection site. What had he drugged her with? As her mind began to clear, she reached up to feel the back of her head and found a dandy of a goose egg back there.
As she lay there, Tess wrestled with the fear of what he would do with her. She was quite certain his motive was not rape; she hadn’t sensed any kind of sexual perversion with him. So if sexual torture was not his thing, just what was his motive for keeping her alive? He obviously knew of her ability. Did he want to ‘compare notes’, so to speak? How long would he keep her? And what would happen when he tired of her? She had to keep him interested. She had to pose no threat to him. She had to outwit him. But how?
Less than an hour later, footsteps above her head alerted her to the fact he was home. Her stomach clenched, and she began to tremble so violently, her teeth chattered. Slapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the scream she so desperately wanted to utter, she was forced to give in to her panic silently lest he hear her. She knew she had to get herself up and ambulatory or she was a sitting duck, so she hauled herself carefully onto her knees. Pausing only long enough to catch her breath, she used the wall for support and cautiously rose to a standing position, taking special care not to move her head unnecessarily. Edging her way along the wall, she made it over to the toilet and mercifully managed to relieve herself. She did not flush, fearful he would hear. She reasoned that every minute she was able to move about and regain her stability could make a difference when he came for her.
Continuing to inch along the wall, she made her way over to the door and quietly tried to open it. The door knob turned easily enough, but when she applied pressure against the door itself, it wouldn’t budge. Something on the other side was barring it. Stranger still, there was a keyable lock on her side of the door. It was as if someone wanted to be able to lock themself inside the room. It took a few seconds for the implications of that to sink in, the very thought of which left her weak in the knees.
Sick with worry, she forced herself to concentrate on walking around the perimeter of the room using the wall for support. The waiting was awful knowing he was just feet above her head doing God knows what. At one point, forgetting about no sudden head movements, she glanced down at her watch to check the time again. Instantly, dizziness washed over her, leaving her sweating profusely. Leaning against the wall, holding her face against its cool surface, she waited for the wave of nausea to subside. When it didn’t, she realized what was really going on. No! No! She slid down to the floor with a groan while the humming in her head grew louder. She was helpless to stop it.
McLean paced the conference room, his hand massaging his temples in a vain attempt to relieve a tension headache. He had only been able to grab a few hours of fitful sleep the previous night on the couch in the staff lounge, and he had eaten nothing so far this morning. The very thought of food made him physically sick. At most, he could only stomach a strong cup of coffee. It had been less than eight hours since Tess’ disappearance, and in that time, a search for her had been mobilized, and a command post had been set up.
A unit clerk stuck her head in the open doorway and advised McLean about a woman asking to see him. His adrenaline kicked into high gear with this news, and he rushed headlong into lobby. Upon spying Leah, his face fell, after which he made a concerted effort to appear collected.
“I want to help,” she told him resolutely as he walked up to her. “Please give me something to do.” The look she gave him was full of determination, and yet, her anguish was plain to see. Although he tried hard not to show it, it matched his own.
“We’ve set up a command post downstairs where we’re organizing volunteers,” he told her. “You’re welcome to help out there.” He tried to sound positive for her sake. Despite her obvious beauty, she looked haggard. Her hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail, and her otherwise striking face was devoid of any makeup, revealing just how truly exhausted she was. No doubt she’d had a sleepless night as well.
“Absolutely. Our phone has been ringing off the hook at home with people from Tess’ department who want to help out, so I can bring some of them with me,” she said smiling tentatively, relieved at the prospect of having something to occupy her time.
“We need to blanket the university with flyers,” McLean told her. “It’s not a large campus; maybe someone saw something. They may not even realize what they saw is significant, but we need them to come forward. In cases like this, tips from the public can provide invaluable leads. In the meantime, has anything else come to mind you haven’t already told us? Anything at all?”
Leah shook her head forlornly. “Oh, God. I wish I’d called her earlier and told her to come home. I got watching a movie.”
“Hey, don’t blame yourself,” he was quick to advise her. “There’s no way you could have known. There’s no way any of us could have known.”
She looked up at him. “Do you think he came back specifically for her?” she asked in a voice full of dread.
“I don’t know. She’s a loose end…” McLean seemed to forget who he was talking to. “Sorry.” He was quick to apologize, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “We’re re-releasing his sketch in the hope it triggers something.” He stopped short of telling her about the syringe cap, even though he would have liked to bring her up to speed, if for no other reason than to give her hope.
Almost as if she read his mind, Leah asked him, “Do you have any leads? Any at all?” She looked at him with such utter despair; McLean was forced to look away.
“Not much, I’m afraid.” At least that wasn’t a lie. He wanted to confess to her the lack of clues pointed to a very sophisticated killer, one who would undoubtedly be hard to track, but he didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was. It was always such a delicate balance dealing with relatives and friends of the victim. You didn’t want to scare them, but neither did you want to give them false hope. In this case, Tess’ own wits could be the key factor in keeping her alive long enough for them to find her. Of cour
se, the question no one could answer was – how long did they have? He shook off such thoughts and returned his attention to Tess’ friend.
“We have a team of guys working on this, Leah. It’s our number one priority. I can assure you we’ll do everything we can,” he promised her, but his words, although full of conviction, did little to bolster his own sagging doubts.
“I know you will, and I appreciate that. If you don’t mind me saying so, you look awful. Let me at least get you guys something to eat,” she offered.
McLean held up a hand in protest. “No, I’m fine. Really. We’re fine.”
“I insist. If I go and get you something then you’ll have more time to spend on the case,” she reasoned. As she turned to leave, she paused, “There’s something you should know, Detective.” She looked at him as if reluctant to spill a secret. “She talks about you all the time. It’s really getting nauseating.”
The look he gave her was one of appreciation tinged with regret.
“So you’d better ask her out at the end of all this,” she admonished. Her jest was light hearted, but both of them knew the worry behind her words.
He came to her basement room later that afternoon, by which point an exhausted Tess sat huddled on her mattress, praying she didn’t look as unsteady as she felt. His entrance was preceded by the scraping sound of bolts being slid back on the door, a sound that threw her into a complete panic. His presence as he entered the room seemed to suck out all of the air, leaving her floundering and breathless.
He took no notice of her at first but proceeded to key the interior lock, effectively locking them both in. Witnessing his actions, an intense fear gripped Tess’ gut, prompting her to slide farther back on her mattress to put more distance between them. It was only when she had backed into the very corner of the wall, did she realize she could go no farther.
Noting her reaction, her captor simply grinned, after which he placed a dinner tray on the single chair in the room. Turning around, he addressed her properly, his manner and tone a complete surprise. “I’ve brought you a tray, my dear. You must be famished!”
She sat in speechless terror. Despite that, her stomach began to growl in earnest, testament to the fact she was indeed starving. She did not want to accept anything from him, however, so she was frustrated beyond measure by what she saw as a betrayal by her own body.
“Ah, of course you are, you poor thing. I’ve made you some supper.” He grinned again, obviously amused at her apparent discomfort. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to stay to watch you eat. I must run.” As he started to turn, he suddenly remembered the items he had tucked in his arm. “Oh, I’ve also brought you some shampoo, a towel and a hair brush.” He held up the items and flashed her a brilliant smile as he proceeded to place them at the laundry sink. “I must insist on one thing, Tessa – please be sure to wash your hair daily. After all, we wouldn’t want it to get all limp and…lifeless, now would we?” When she didn’t reply, he answered his own question, “No, no. That wouldn’t do at all.”
As he turned to leave, he cautioned her, “I know you won’t try anything foolish, my dear. After all, I wouldn’t want to have to do anything before we’ve even had a chance to get to know one another, now would I?” Quickly keying the lock open, he tossed her a wave as he sailed over the threshold and out of sight. Seconds later, she heard the definite sounds of first one and then a second bolt being slid back into place.
Only once his footsteps had receded was she able to release the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. In his presence, she had felt like she was drowning – drowning in her own fear. Taking several deep, cleansing breaths, she attempted to calm her erratic pulse. Despite her fear, she could not ignore for long the delicious aroma of the meal on the tray before her. Still guarded, she gingerly crawled off the mattress to examine it – a pasta dish on a paper plate and some juice in a foam cup. No cutlery of any kind. It figured. After only a moment’s hesitation, she tore into the food with a desperation she could barely control, at first self-conscious about using her fingers, but soon losing all sense of propriety. Despite her revulsion of him, she knew she had to eat. Logic told her she would need every ounce of strength, every faculty she possessed in order to plan her escape.
After wolfing down her dinner and feeling much stronger for it, Tess cautiously eyed the sole window in her room. Although it was barred, she knew she could at least get some perspective as to her whereabouts, and she knew she needed to do that before it got dark. At first, she was doubtful she could get up on the chair in her condition, but she soon came to the conclusion she could accomplish it if she was exceedingly careful.
Setting her dinner tray on the floor, she slowly slid the chair underneath the window, careful not to make any noise as she did so. Once it was properly situated, she used the wall for support and climbed onto the chair’s seat with painstaking care, keeping her head level so as not to trigger any dizziness. The last thing she needed was to take a fall.
Standing on her tiptoes and using the bars for balance, she found she could look through the bottom half of the window, enabling her to take note of her immediate surroundings. It was as she had suspected – a rural setting. The window looked out onto a thickly forested yard, and there were no other buildings or houses in sight.
Sighing heavily, she carefully stepped down off the chair and took a seat on it, spending the next anxious hour contemplating her confinement. A sense of purpose settled over her borne out of the necessity for single-minded focus on the predicament she found herself in. Knowing that the first 24 to 48 hours were critical in any abduction case, she knew she had to think fast.
Her mind raced, trying to conjure up a plausible escape scenario with the things she had at hand. Taking stock of her room, she made a mental list of the things at her disposal: a twin-sized mattress; a plastic chair; one light bulb; a thin towel; a bottle of shampoo; a small hairbrush; and finally, her watch, clothing and shoes. She discounted the plastic dinner tray, paper plate and foam cup as he would undoubtedly collect those items daily. For a brief instant, she speculated about a strangulation attempt using the towel, but she quickly ruled out such a notion. Manual strangulation required strength a woman her size simply did not possess.
And so she sat for a long time, worrying her lower lip as she often did when deep in thought. Finally, she came to a conclusion – her only chance, she believed, was to incapacitate her captor long enough to get his keys. She estimated she would need perhaps ten to fifteen seconds to get the keys, unlock the door to her room, and make a break for it. The speed with which she could accomplish such a thing would all depend on how many keys were on his keychain. Unfortunately, she was still feeling the effects of the drug he had injected her with. She knew she would have to wait for her dizziness to subside before she made any move. For now, she was still too unsteady on her feet to confront him. Annoyed, she wondered how long it would take for the drug to wear off.
Rising from the chair, ever careful of her precarious balance, her eye fell on the hairbrush sitting atop the towel at the sink. She stared at it intensely for several seconds before carefully making her way over to it. Picking it up, she examined it closely, her pulse quickening when she realized it was made from a light-coloured wood.
Like a thief with something inordinately precious, she made her way back along the wall to her mattress, feeling like she could literally dance along. Carefully lowering herself to her knees and holding the brush by the end with the bristles, she rubbed the side of the handle along the rough concrete floor for a moment or two and then examined the result. The clear finish had been scraped away! Her heart soared.
Easing herself off the mattress, she proceeded to tug it away from the wall. Several nasty looking spiders exposed from their hiding place scurried away towards another dark corner of the room, but she paid them no heed. Instead, she began in earnest to scrape one side of the elongated oval brush handle against the concrete floor, a difficult endeavour w
ith her dizziness that would not allow her to bend over her work. Instead, she had to hold her head level and work the brush by feel. After several minutes of exertion, she held the brush up in front of her once again and examined her handiwork, elated to see a slightly noticeable difference in the shape of the handle. It would require a great deal of effort to sharpen it, but she knew she could do it.
Realizing her captor might have heard the scraping upstairs, she paused and listened intently. After several minutes, she was finally satisfied she hadn’t attracted his notice, but she chastised herself anyway for her stupidity. Surely at some point, he had to go out, she reasoned. Vowing to wait for such an opportunity, she pushed the mattress back in place and waited…
After what seemed like ages, but in reality was actually less than an hour later, she distinctly heard the sound of a door opening and closing followed soon after by a car engine. She came to the conclusion there was an exterior basement door close to her room because she not only heard the door, but felt it as well in the subtle vibration of the adjacent wall. Hearing the car engine so soon after the door led her to believe the car was probably parked close to the house. That was a relief. At least she should be able to hear him come and go.
Not wasting any time after her captor’s departure, Tess yanked her mattress out from the wall once again and immediately set to work. Holding her watch in front of her face, she noted the time – 4:30 p.m. With a goal now firmly in mind, she attacked her work with a feverish intensity, rubbing the brush handle repeatedly along the rough concrete floor. She felt like some kind of medieval master craftsman honing a fine blade against a sharpening stone, knowing that the hours of labour would be well worth the effort. As she suspected, colour from the wood stained the concrete, but she would hide any such evidence underneath the mattress.