A Likely Story

by Jenn McKinlay

  Sully put his finger to his lips and motioned for Kirkland and Lindsey to follow him. They wound their way back to the front door as silently as possible. When they got there, however, it looked different.

  It took Lindsey a second to realize that the door that they had found unlocked and had left open was now shut. Sully realized it, too, as he motioned for them to stop while he checked the door and the area around it for traps.

  The noise from above was fainter here, but Lindsey could still hear the occasional bang and thump. She kept glancing over her shoulder for fear that someone was about to spring out at her, but there was never anyone there.

  Satisfied that there was no trap, Sully reached forward and turned the knob on the door handle. It turned, but the door didn’t budge. He frowned and tried again. He put his weight into it, but it didn’t move. He crouched down to peer through the panel of the old window that had been covered with aluminum foil but that Lindsey had peeled back the last time they were here.

  He blew out a breath of exasperation. “It’s blocked. Someone blocked it with that old abandoned refrigerator out there.”

  Sully glanced over his shoulder at them, and Lindsey could see the truth of the situation in his eyes. They were locked in.

  A crash followed by muted cursing sounded, and Kirkland jumped. This time when he put his hand on his gun, Sully didn’t stop him.

  “He could be on his way down,” Kirkland said in a low voice. “We can’t linger here.”

  Sully nodded. He scanned the area and took Lindsey’s hand in his. He wedged her into a tiny space beside a coatrack that was buried beneath a pile of coats and scarves and carried the pungent odor of the inside of a barn.

  “You’re the last line of defense,” he said. “If he gets past Kirkland and me, I’d like for you to use your phone to call the police and not try to take him out yourself.”

  Lindsey nodded, and Sully gave her a dubious look. “You’ve been very lucky in the past with some of the unsavory characters you’ve run into, but remember that this person murdered a man in a wheelchair. That takes a special kind of sociopath, don’t you think?”

  Lindsey shivered. Sully was right. Whoever murdered Peter Rosen had no conscience at all. They had likely killed Stewart as well, and now the three of them were trapped in this house with the killer. She could feel her brain spasm with hysterics. She shook her head. Panicking never helped.

  “It might not be the killer,” she whispered. Sully looked at her. “But I’ll behave as if we know for sure that it is.”

  “Good call,” he said.

  He squeezed her hands and stepped back, scrutinizing her spot and rearranging the coats until he was satisfied.

  Another thump sounded from above, and Kirkland gave Sully a worried look. They moved out of Lindsey’s sight, so she leaned back against the wall until she could peek through the coats at what they were doing.

  Sully stationed Kirkland just behind the entrance to the sitting room, which was to the left of the stairs and was full of clocks. Kirkland was too big to really be hidden. His crop of fiery red hair was visible as were his knees and elbows.

  “Wait here,” Sully said to Kirkland. “Remember, we aren’t going to do anything until he is all the way down the stairs.”

  Kirkland nodded and leaned back into the shadows as best he could behind a towering pile of encyclopedias.

  It was then that Sully disappeared from view and Lindsey felt her heart clutch in her chest. She didn’t like not being able to see him. She wanted to pop out from her spot just to see where he was, but she didn’t want to do anything that might put them all in jeopardy.

  The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor above her sounded, and she felt her nerves stretch to the point of breaking. There was another thump and a crash, and she wondered what was happening up there.

  Had the killer caught Stewart? Was he tied up right above them, pleading for his life while they hid down here waiting for some indication of what was happening?

  She felt sick to her stomach, and the terror that clawed at her insides wasn’t helping. It was taking every bit of her self-control to stay in place and not bolt up the stairs and confront the killer.

  And then she heard it, a heavy footfall on the top step. She was pretty sure her heart stopped in her chest as she waited for the sound of the next step. Thump. There it was. She wondered if Sully and Kirkland had heard it, too. She was sure they must have.

  She waited for the sound of the killer making his way down the stairs, but there was nothing but silence. Had he seen Kirkland’s hair? Or Sully? Where was Sully? Had he harmed them? Were they in trouble even now while she hid?

  Lindsey wanted to peek, but she didn’t dare. Sully said she was the last line of defense. She couldn’t jump out and ruin their stakeout. Not yet.

  The silence felt as if it were being stretched taut like a string about to snap. Then again, maybe it was just her nerves.

  She jumped when another thump sounded on the stairs. What could the person be doing that would make such a noise?

  Lindsey fisted the fabric of her jacket in her hands. The image of the killer dragging Stewart’s limp body down the stairs popped into her head, and she felt her heart thump hard in her chest. She felt dizzy and weak and realized she had stopped breathing. She forced a tiny breath into her lungs to keep from passing out.

  There was another bump and then a shout. It sounded like Officer Kirkland. There was a yelp and a crash and the sound of footsteps pounding the floor going in the opposite direction. Lindsey shifted on her feet, torn between leaping out to find out what was happening and staying put to be the backup she was supposed to be.

  “Damn it!” That was Sully’s voice. “He’s getting away!”

  “Sorry!” Kirkland yelled. “I thought I had him.”

  “Go that way,” Sully ordered. “I’ll go this way, but look out for traps. Be wary.”

  “Roger that,” Kirkland answered.

  “Lindsey, stay put. Do not move,” Sully hissed.

  “Okay,” she whispered back.

  She heard the two men move away from her and wondered in which direction the killer had gone. Not back upstairs, since neither of them went that way.

  Lindsey frowned. It seemed to her that the killer could double back and hurry up the stairs to hide or escape. She leaned forward and tried to see the staircase. She couldn’t see it from her spot. She crouched low, hoping that would give her a better angle. No luck.

  It occurred to her that it was useless to be the last line of defense in front of a door that the killer wasn’t going to use because it had been blocked, undoubtedly by him. Clearly he knew it wasn’t viable. The only spot in the area that needed watching was the stairs.

  She knew Sully was going to be mad. But it wasn’t her fault that he had raced off without thinking things through. The staircase was what they should be monitoring, and she couldn’t do it from behind all of this junk.

  There was only one thing to do. She stepped out from the pile of coats, keeping low to the floor, and scurried toward the stairs. She heard a crash from the kitchen and almost crab-walked back to her hidey-hole, but instead she lurched forward until she was on the bottom step. She tried to climb the steps quietly, but the hard heels of her shoes knocked on the wooden steps with sharp raps.

  She inched her way up the first three steps but then darted up the stairs until she was halfway up and hidden in the shadows. She perched on the step, fretting over what could have made the crashing noise from the kitchen. Had Sully or Kirkland gotten caught in a trap? Or had the killer gotten them?

  She wanted to dart down the steps to investigate, but she hadn’t heard a cry for help. Surely, if one of them had been injured, they would have shouted for help. She rocked back and forth and hugged her knees while keeping her gaze on the doorways below.

  She didn’t know what she would do if she saw the perpetrator. Scream, most likely. Maybe throw some stuff at him. She wondered if he
was carrying a weapon. She glanced around her at the piles of rubbish. Yeah, this was not going to be a fair fight.

  Lindsey listened for any sound of movement downstairs. There was nothing. She couldn’t hear Sully or Kirkland moving through the house. She strained her ears, trying to pick up the sound of a step, the creak of a floorboard, the whoosh of a door opening. There was nothing. It was as if the house was empty of any living being except her. Lindsey shivered.

  From her vantage point on the steps, she scanned the piles of junk and garbage that filled the room below her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she could swear that someone was watching her. Her head darted from side to side, looking for a person, but the junk below made it impossible to pick anyone out in the shadows.

  She fought the panic that clawed at her insides. There was no one there. There couldn’t be. Sully and Kirkland were too big for the killer to have gotten by. Unless that crash in the kitchen had been the killer taking out one of the men or maybe both.

  Her hands began to shake as fear took hold of her extremities and slowly worked its way up her skin like frost growing on a windowpane. She would not be a victim. She would fight back.

  She scanned the stuff crammed along the side of the steps for a weapon. She had seen an assortment of old golf putters out on the porch, but she had no way of getting one. No, it had to be something within reach.

  She flipped open the top of the cardboard box beside her. A plume of dust rose up in the air, forcing her to turn away, but not before the musty, moldy cloud flew up her nose, making her want to sneeze. She fought the urge, not wanting to make any noise and give away her position.

  She tucked her face into her elbow and looked inside the box. A pile of rusted old door hinges filled the box to the top. She reached in and quietly withdrew one. It was gritty to the touch and heavier than she’d thought. Cast iron and shaped like a fleur-de-lis, it had some heft and a nice sharp point.

  Lindsey figured she could either conk someone on the head with it, or, if required, she would stab them with the business end. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  She held it in front of her, bracing for the killer to run up the stairs at her. But the distinct sound of heavy breathing didn’t come from in front of her, it came from behind. It only took her a second, but Lindsey knew with the crystalline clarity born from sheer terror that Peter’s killer was standing right behind her.

  For a nanosecond Lindsey considered not moving, as if she could blend into the piles of garbage like a mannequin or a statue if she just didn’t move. Fortunately, her fight-or-flight response kicked in, overriding her temporary paralysis, and she jumped up from her position with a yell, spun around and hurled the door hinge at the person behind her.

  It struck true, and the person yelped and then cursed, but Lindsey was already scrabbling down the stairs away from him. She tripped on a box of books, but even the sight of their leather bindings and gilded pages did not give her pause.

  She dashed through the narrow pathway that cut across the next room. Her breathing was ragged, and her heart was pounding. She didn’t think to slow down for any traps but rather fled like a runaway, knocking bags of clothes over in her wake to keep the stranger from pursuing her.

  It didn’t work. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw a man in a dark gray puffy jacket with the hood up over his head chasing after her. He leapt over the books and clothes without difficulty.

  He was gaining on her. Lindsey turned up her speed and didn’t even pause when she launched herself through the doorway into the next room. If there was a trap, she was hoping that by jumping through the middle of the doorway, she would avoid triggering it.

  She slammed into a pile of picture frames. They were big and wooden, and one of her legs got wedged in the middle of them. She heard the man behind her. He had stopped at the doorway and was clearly checking for a trap before he came through. It bought Lindsey just a second. She glanced at the path ahead, knowing he would be right behind her, and then she glanced down at where her leg was stuck.

  It was a long shot, but she thought that the frames might form a cubby that would hide her away from the killer. She didn’t overthink it but let her instincts take over. She ducked down into the old frames. The cramped space smelled of mildew and rotten wood, but she didn’t care. She got her foot free and wiggled her way backward. In a matter of feet, the light disappeared completely, and she had to use her hands to feel her way.

  She felt an ornately carved wooden leg, followed it up and discovered it was a table. She crawled under it, shoving aside small boxes as she went. The space wasn’t as filled in with odds and ends as she had expected, and she wondered how far back she could go.

  She heard the heavy tread of the killer pause at the picture frames, and she wondered if he had seen her and would try to come after her. Damn it. Suddenly the confined space seemed claustrophobic instead of cocoon like.

  “You can’t escape,” the man’s deep voice hissed after her. “I know every bit of this house. I’ll catch you before you find your way out.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice. It was dark and menacing and made her teeth chatter even as she tried not to make a sound. She scooted farther under the table. Instead of being hemmed in, however, there was an opening that went on through the collection of stuff almost as if it was an intentionally constructed tunnel.

  Lindsey didn’t hesitate. She moved forward on her hands and knees. Something squished beneath her fingers, and she had to press her lips together to keep from crying out. It was too dark to see what it was, which was probably for the best. She wiped her hand on the side of a box and moved forward.

  She heard a rustle and a bang behind her and realized the man was coming after her. She crawled faster, but her coat got caught under her knee, and she fell forward onto her face with a thump. The ancient carpet beneath her nose was rough and gritty and smelled of mold. She felt a sneeze build, but she pinched it off. Yanking her coat up around her waist, she hurried forward. Deeper and deeper into the recesses of the broken and rusty piles of refuse she wound her way.

  Clearly, this was most definitely a deliberate tunnel built no doubt to give access to the items in the far corners of the house. Lindsey felt like a mouse in a maze looking for a piece of cheese. She heard a knock behind her followed by a curse and suspected that her pursuer had whacked his head on one of the table legs.

  Where were Sully and Kirkland? Had this man already killed them? The thought made her sick with dread. She pushed forward, feeling her way in the darkness. Her fingers traced the edge of a box, and she realized the tunnel was turning. She reached out and felt the floor in the opposite direction in an effort to get her bearings, but it was wide open. It appeared the path split in two directions, but which way should she go? What if one of them was a dead end, which would be a lot more literal if the stranger caught her?

  A crash sounded behind her, and she scurried forward, going automatically to the left, as she assumed it led back into the house, whereas the right would lead to the outer wall of the room, which could be a death trap.

  The tunnel was a little bit wider. She debated pulling items down behind her, but the noise would alert the man to which direction she had taken and might possibly cause an avalanche. She wasn’t positive how the items overhead were held up, but when she reached out she felt thick boards above her every few feet, so she suspected that she was in the equivalent of a hoarder’s mine shaft. The thought of being crushed to death by the weight of the stuff overhead made her move almost as fast as the sound of the labored breathing behind her.

  The tunnel turned again. Lindsey tried to move as quietly as possible, hunching her shoulders in tight to avoid brushing against anything that would make noise. She had gone several yards when she heard the man reach the point where the tunnel split. She froze. She could hear him feeling his way in the pitch black. The sound of his hands as they ran over the boxes scraped across her frayed nerves. She was cold and
dirty and scared. She closed her eyes and tried to shrink into herself to make herself as small as possible.

  In moments she heard him working his way down the tunnel away from her. She silently expelled the breath she’d been holding. She had no idea how far his path would lead, but she resisted the urge to race forward. She didn’t want him to hear her moving in a blind panic.

  She inched her way forward. Her throat closed up and she gagged when the stink of something dead lingered on the air in its own malignant fog. She wondered if it was a mouse or a rat, maybe even a snake. She refused to picture anything larger, like a body. She shook her head, forcing the image of Peter Rosen’s dead body out of her mind. She knew he had been taken to the medical examiner’s office. He was not here in this tunnel with her. Still, her skin recoiled at the thought that wouldn’t go away.

  Lindsey could feel the dirt caked on the palms of her hands, and her nose was running, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or if it was her body’s natural defense to block the foul smells that filled the cramped space. Tears were stinging her eyes, but she didn’t know if it was in reaction to the smell or a bit of panic-induced hysteria. She had a feeling it was the latter.

  She pinched herself on the back of her wrist. It was quieter than slapping herself, which she was pretty sure was what she needed. There was no time for a freak-out. She had to keep moving.

  As she crawled forward, the opening started to get narrower and narrower, and she had to get down on her belly and scoot forward. She was afraid she was approaching a dead end, but so long as there was a path of any kind, she was determined to follow it.

  The going was slow, and she didn’t know if the man chasing her had turned around and come back after her. Her only hope was that he was too big to fit in this narrow of a space. She was working her way past an old refrigerator and heap of model trains when she felt a hand grab her ankle.