Bound By Shadows (The McAllister Justice Series Book 2)

by Reily Garrett

  Clumsy movements gained Kaylee an upright advantage on shaky legs before anger and adrenaline supplemented her power. A well-aimed but weakened kick rocked his head. The crunch of nasal bone granted small satisfaction.

  “Kaylee, he’s down. Free me.”

  Four steps in the other victim’s direction and Kaylee stopped short. The bloody rock in her hand was no match for the thick padlock. The key she needed rested harmlessly in the lock to her own cage. Retrieving it would mean stepping between the dirtball and prison, thereby blocking her exit. She shuffled one step.

  The bastard groaned then cursed.

  She scrutinized his sluggish movements.

  Blood flowed around thick fingers pressed to his temple and nose. “Fuck. I’m gonna kill you slow, peel the skin from every inch of your body.”

  The kidnapper’s awkward movements wouldn’t stay clumsy for long. Kaylee glanced helplessly at the woman’s tear-streaked face. To delay would mean death. With each wild heartbeat, the bastard regained his senses.

  She had no choice.

  “I’ll send help.” The minuscule blink linking one heartbeat to the next rifled myriad images of cosmic lunacy through the dark reaches of her mind.

  She tried to use me as a bargaining chip. The realization didn’t justify leaving her behind.

  “No, don’t leave me here. He’ll kill me. Grab the key. Just toss it to me!”

  There were no good options. The kidnapper rolled to a sitting position.

  The chamber had two exits. Two choices held equally dark and dismal hope. Two echoes that defied origin. She figured it came from the farthest black yawning mouth. Fear and disorientation hampered her certainty, a fifty-fifty shot of running toward death. Each led into a dark unknown, each a question mark for escape and survival.

  She fled through the closest shaft, blindly reaching forward, urged faster by the string of curses trailing her.

  Should have taken the light. Yet that would have given the kidnapper something to track.

  Do they know which way I went? She prayed the other victim would use misdirection in hopes of eventually gaining her own freedom.

  Small rocks dotted the sandy ground and threatened her balance with each step. Please let them be rocks. At least they didn’t squirm underfoot. Above, the ceiling’s height outdistanced her reach. With one hand stretched in front and the other slightly overhead, she rushed forward, stumbling into the walls each time the maze curved.

  Curses and shuffling sounds floated from behind. Each shunted her faster in a blind scramble to find an exit. These tunnels can go for miles. At any second, she expected someone to fist her hair in a punishing grip or fire blindly, the bite of a bullet piercing her back.

  What felt like hours probably passed in minutes. After several turns, she no longer detected sounds of pursuit. Nothing eclipsed the rush of blood in her ears.

  Musty air choked her lungs, the dampness making each heavy breath the equivalent of sucking air through a dirty, wet filter. The darkness was a blessing and a curse. Surely her pursuers would use some form of light. A quick glance over her shoulder ensured no flickering shadows drifted through the maze.

  Time measured itself in each faltering step, each erratic thrust of her heart against its cage, and each smothering gag she suppressed. Without knowledge of her location, she couldn’t guess what lay ahead. Each time the tunnel branched in front of her, she kept to the left. Always left. She’d already gone too far and made too many turns to track her route, not that she wanted to return.

  The police will search for the other woman. They’ll use tracking dogs.

  No light and with nothing to mark her trail meant she’d have to rely on her wits, frazzled and twisted into a mindless, instinctual creature now acting on intuition.

  Chapter Two

  Time held little meaning as every harsh exhale returned a mini echo, the cadence a reassurance of continued life. Phantom talons plunged from the void every time her outstretched hand collided with solid wall while the conjured images of a flesh and blood nightmare spurred her desperation. Each time, a gasp threatened exposure to the fiendish rapist located in the bowels of the catacombs.

  She imagined small recesses to either side, filled with skeletons of those unable to escape. Empty sockets stared, silently jeering her onward. The musky scent of the past both followed her and foreshadowed the future.

  The fact she couldn’t hear her kidnapper in pursuit didn’t mean he wasn’t close. The dirt floor and mazelike configuration muted sound while ominous dark tunnels held tight to their secrets. She existed in a black void, a rat caught in a maze but lacking any positive stimulus as a guide.

  As if fear gave rise to action, a scream stopped her cold. Begging and pleading tones echoed off brick walls, then suddenly cut short.

  Would they kill her? Stomach acid boiled up at the back of her throat.

  Surely one of the kidnappers was searching the tunnels in hopes of catching their escapee. She wondered to what lengths they would go. Listening to the overwhelming silence, she could hear no telltale shuffling or curses delineating her remaining life.

  An odd thought made her reach for the wallet she always kept in her back pocket when working. It was gone.

  They have my driver’s license, which hasn’t been renewed since moving.

  The bastard wouldn’t know where she lived if she made it back to civilization. The thought pushed her forward.

  Shock and pain reshaped her focus after her nose struck jagged rock. Instinct forced her to crouch and collect her wits.

  A narrow wedge of wall scraping her left hand outlined the partition of the tunnel’s split. If someone tried to track her and used enough light, they’d see a fresh, bloody smear on the edge.

  Wiping her lip covered her fingers in the slick, coppery fluid and reminded her of when a childhood crush had rescued the neighborhood twins from the school bullies. Caden McAllister had stood between her and the future hoodlums. He’d become her hero, worshiped from afar and glimpsed sporadically with his older brothers. She could use a hero in her life.

  She couldn’t spare the seconds to apply pressure to her nose when she needed both hands in front to detect where the passage split. Every second differentiated the gossamer thread between life and death. Sticky moisture dribbled down her chin and would cement her long hair in spiky patches.

  Trembling fingers defined the tunnel’s split into what she guessed was only two shafts. Without visual confirmation, she realized she may have missed many partitions.

  Left, always left.

  Again, the jagged surface removed a layer from her finger pads as she felt her way forward.

  Oregon’s underground tunnels were partly the reason for her return to the Pacific Northwest, a young photographer’s dream. She’d wanted to recapture the security of prior years and reconnect with old friends. Ironic to find herself trapped in what she assumed was the very system she’d wanted to explore as a child.

  Darting farther into the black void, she prayed she wouldn’t fall down a vertical shaft. Being mindful of the miles of gnarled paths ahead didn’t help her frantic heart rate or help her come up with a better plan. She could die down here with no one the wiser, her parents unaware and unable to mourn her passing.

  Shaking legs forced her to brace herself against the wall at intervals to catch her breath and keep nausea at bay. At some point, her nose stopped bleeding. Pitch-blackness and an overactive imagination skewed her time perception. The only goal, escape.

  High-pitched squeaking in the dark forced her onward as her cunning dark side fashioned beady red eyes in mutant monsters hungering for the taste of flesh.

  I hate rats.

  She realized the kidnapper might have no choice other than to kill the other woman now, even if it wasn’t the original plan. They would also hunt any witnesses. They had a name, birth date, and driver’s license number. With that information and the right connections, anyone could track her down.

  Time shi
fted images of a woman’s dead body through her mental folders. There was nothing she could do except pray and send help.

  Narrowing her focus to each step led to structure and order as her thoughts swirled in a drug-hazed mist. Assuming she survived, the police would use dogs to search, but what would they find? Even a dim-witted criminal would try to cover his trail.

  Claustrophobia had never resided among her shortcomings. The subterranean maze now crushed her hopes with its seemingly endless branches lacking a discernable pattern. The path curved and twisted in defiance of her attempt at developing a mental template.

  Both cell phone and wallet were gone, along with her keys always attached to her belt carrier when working. The only remaining piece of her existence lay cold against her neck. An SD card inside the locket she wore would yield some information about what happened before she woke up in a cage. The lost camera was her prized possession.

  Nothing compared to a woman’s life.

  Light mist coated her forehead despite the coolness of the musty air, possibly the last moisture she’d ever feel. It was a sobering thought.

  At intervals, queasiness forced her to stop for slow, controlled breaths, time she spent listening for muffled curses and searching the distant recesses for torch light.

  When exhaustion botched her step and it ended with a face-plant, she considered yielding to fate. The memories of her loving family who had bolstered her lagging spirit whenever darkness encroached, threatened her composure. Giving up had never been in her vocabulary, but she’d never been bombarded by so much evil and so many insurmountable problems.

  If she survived, she’d make sure her parents knew their worth. It seemed life brought her greatest epiphanies during the bleakest moments. In the back of her mind, her father’s voice drifted to her as unconsciousness dragged her into oblivion. ‘You can’t prevail if you don’t try.’

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  A nightmare woke then followed her into the waking world as a not-so-distant chittering compelled her clumsily to her feet. With no idea of whether moments or hours had passed, she forged ahead, one foot in front of the other. She had no other choice.

  At one point, the heavy thump of music overhead throbbed in her chest. Perhaps it defined a deadfall through which someone might have dragged an inert body. Stretching up, she couldn’t reach the ceiling. Even if she had a light and could find a trapdoor, the occupants on the other side might be her enemy.

  Without light or specific stimuli to guide her other than the stone scraping her fingers, she shuffled forward as precious memories of her family filled her thoughts. Gradually, she detected the low buzz of voices, growing louder with each turn in her maze. Lack of discernable words kept her hidden in the shadows.

  Freedom was too close to risk stumbling into more thugs. After hearing the bloodcurdling scream cut short—what felt like hours ago—it wasn’t worth the chance.

  A sudden loud crack coincided with her turning another corner in the pitch-black maze. Instinctively, she ducked at the sound of solid impact. Perhaps someone had dropped a barrel on a dock. She knew many of the tunnels led to the river. Her traitorous imagination created images of bound and gagged women dropped on the decking, waiting to be led through whatever horrific chain of events others had endured.

  Cautiously, she eased forward around another jagged curve that like the others, branched out into places unknown. The air became sharper with a saltwater tang, making her want to take large gulping breaths. She savored them slowly, quietly.

  Dim light.

  Just around the corner, the blessed luminous energy she’d spent years studying in perfecting her craft, sent dingy spindles that stopped short about twenty feet from the opening. She strained to gather the gist of the conversation.

  “Careful with that merchandise. We don’t get paid for damaged goods.” The deep, harsh tone would have frozen any demon in hell. The voice gave no indication as to the nature of his merchandise. At any moment, she expected to hear a thin wail or a pleading cry.

  If they were unloading stock to bring through the tunnels, fate had swung its pendulum against her. As quietly as on approach, she backed to where the tunnel branched and felt her way along the other shaft, not knowing if she’d taken their intended route or slipped out of their path. When something soft underfoot squirmed and screeched, her own squeal pierced the musty air before she could clamp a hand over her mouth.

  “Hey, you hear that?” The speaker’s voice sounded reedy, younger.

  It seemed unlikely that bootleggers would hire teenagers for extra help but it wasn’t worth the risk of discovery to find out. She retreated several more steps.

  “Yeah, sounds like your mama when I stroke deep.” Several gravelly chuckles followed the admonition. “Now pick up the barrel and ignore the tunnel rats. I’d like to skin whoever’s putting poison down here. Makes the air fouler than necessary.”

  Nasty air becomes tolerable when consumed by a free individual.

  Quiet tears washed her face. She wanted desperately to bolt toward civilization, but without knowing where she’d exit, she had no clue which route led to the city. She wasn’t even sure of the date. After spending time wandering underground and exhausted, she couldn’t outrun a small child, much less a grown man. If she waited until night, perhaps the city’s lights would act as a beacon to safety.

  Sounds of shuffling feet with occasional grunts and crude comments followed the men’s passage down the other shaft as Kaylee made her way farther into her branch of purgatory. This time, with the hope of eventual escape guiding her, she mentally noted the turns taken. Hunger clawed at her belly, yet overwhelming thirst pushed her further in hopes of finding an aquifer or underground spring. Without a time frame since daylight last caressed her skin, either dehydration or the drug’s aftereffects dulled her senses.

  Exhaustion and fear jumbled the map she’d tried to form while a sense of self-preservation curtailed her search for water. Banking her reserves for the bolt to freedom led her to sit in silence while waiting.

  It wasn’t until she’d leaned against the wall she realized craggy dirt had again replaced brick. Along her tortuous route, she vaguely recalled varying changes under her fingertips and wondered if that was how others defined their path.

  The horror of what she’d just escaped evoked a fresh accumulation of tears and a lump in her throat. A slow, muted breath helped steady her nerves. In a cursory assessment, she felt the scrapes and bruises on her face and head, along with the congealed strings from her nosebleed. Over her right ear, she found a tangled mess matted with blood.

  Time passed in a jumbled blur of fear—punctuated randomly by distant voices and occasional guffaws. Were they devising methods of torture? As much as she wanted to close her eyes and sleep, she stayed vigilant, wary of furry, red-eyed critters and the chance someone would stumble her way. In her mind, she reviewed her rusty memories of the area. She could be miles from civilization with nothing but forest between.

  Why would these men transfer their goods during the day if the merchandise was illegal? If they were legit, why use the tunnels at all?

  Limited external stimuli offered no help in gauging time’s passage and compelled her thoughts inward. The dull awareness of so much quiet wrapped in thickened layers of moist air reminded her of the caverns she and Reese explored in Pennsylvania. They’d planned to move back here at the same time. Her parents saw her moving to Oregon alone as her way of honoring her brother’s dream, but it’d been her dream, too.

  A single tear traced down her cheek, soon followed by others, left to add their moisture to her damp shirt and jacket. She hadn’t cried when Reese died, shock numbing that part of her which connected with her twin. If she ran into the goon squad, she’d likely see him in spirit and have no more need of tears.

  When a drop in temperature suggested evening’s approach, she crawled to the next split where she could taste the salty tang of the ocean on the slightest of air currents. Faint
lapping sounds of water lulled her into a false sense of security while the screams of sea gulls reminded her of a last cry for help. The dichotomy snarled her nerves into knots.

  Faint shafts of light stealing along the dirt floor dimmed, receding with the sun’s descent. Again, she sat against the rough wall, waiting, biding her time, and fighting panic as the darkness threatened her sanity.

  When pitch darkness consumed her once again, she palmed the wall to gain her feet. It was time to move.

  In preparation for her bid for freedom, she shoved the bulk of her sticky, matted hair down the back of her shirt. Eliminating the perfect handhold made sense.

  The last of the male voices had drifted off earlier, followed by the sounds of a motor rambling away. That didn’t eliminate other threats.

  Waiting for her.

  There was only one way to find out. Cautious steps in the blackness yielded more of the same. Panic seized her with the realization she may not have retraced her steps but instead headed back into Hades. Nervous energy hummed through her head while faceless monsters again took shape in her mind. I stayed left.

  Around the next bend, faint shafts of moonlight offered a promise of freedom, capture, or death. While a lighter shade of murkiness outlined the exit, she took her first unfettered breath. Another one followed. Each pace brought her a stronger tang of fresh air until she stood on the edge of a precipice, both literally and figuratively.

  The steep incline would have been dangerous to travel even during the day. A sharp, downward slant represented the merging of two worlds where a bad decision equaled degradation, pain, and a return trip to the netherworld. Careless forward movement would see her injured and unable to outrun the morning sunrise. Over her shoulder, the yawning mouth of oblivion pushed her out into the unknown.

  The last night she’d spent in her rental house, the rising full moon allowed her to sit on the patio to enjoy a comfortable and relaxing evening. Now, light, salty fog coated her skin with moisture, the welcome coolness accompanied by a slight breeze. Behind her, the misshapen entrance of jagged rock approximately six feet in circumference urged her forward.