Hush in the Storm

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  We again. I was sick of him talking as if he and Robert were still cohorts in this whole bloody thing. Robert was dead. “I’d like a few minutes of privacy now.”

  “You got it. Turning off audio for ten. Take your time. I am still monitoring the hall, though, so I’ll know when you’re finished.”

  I nodded, ducked into the cinderblock closet, and closed the door. Baby wipes and toilet paper had been carefully placed in reach. So was the morning paper. I stifled a laugh. Maybe he was trying to make me comfortable after all.

  * * *

  I now had the run of the place, so to speak. Room, hallway, two dead ends, john. Cozy. I tried not to dwell on the fact Tom was watching me like a lab experiment. Truth be told, I didn’t know. He could be there, or gone. He could come back, or not. He could appear suddenly with food, or another syringe. Rape still remained a possibility. But surely by now...?

  My mind couldn’t make sense of it. The man was a blank slate I couldn’t figure out. On second thought, he was more like a chameleon. Kind and sympathetic one minute, all business-like and calculating the next, then back to soft and caring. Originally wimpy and dull. Next, seductive and manly.

  Almost as if he behaved one way when he was sure we were alone and another when he thought someone was watching and listening through that little dome. But who? His agency? Like on the old TV game show To Tell the Truth, I wanted to call out, “Would the real Tom please stand up?”

  Either way, he spelled danger with a capital D. From now on, I’d have to be on my toes. I simply couldn’t play into anything. I couldn’t reveal my emotions. Nope, I couldn’t give him a clue. The best way to get the upper hand was to keep him guessing. I’d be totally stoic. I’d show him who had a poker face.

  * * *

  A slight whirr came from the hallway, then his soft-shoed stride into the room. I’d been doing sit-ups, trying to keep the blood circulating.

  “Hate to interrupt your workout.” He sugar-coated a grin and sat down in the chair. I swung my torso around and folded my legs to the side.

  “Yes?”

  His face brightened. “Good news. Your confinement may be close to an end. I think I have it all arranged. Things are settling down. Your funeral...” He cleared his throat. “Uh, memorial service was this morning.” He handed me the obit section, in case I hadn’t seen it in the loo where he’d left the newspaper each morning. Which, I hadn’t. Maybe my subconscious had kept me from that part of the paper. I blinked and looked away.

  “I know you were an only child, but I think you still have two or three cousins living? Guess they had to wait for them to arrive. Anyway, management gave everyone in our department a half day off today, so some of your coworkers attended. I, by the way, have the stomach flu, so I didn’t go.” He felt his own forehead for effect. “I’ll be off work at least two or three more days as well.’’

  So that’s where he’s been. At work. As if all was normal. I gave him a fake pout. “Ah, too bad.”

  Tom cleared his throat. “We know they were watching the church.” He smiled. “They must have been convinced it wasn’t faked. It seems they have slithered away for now. So now we can make our move.”

  I glanced back at the paper. The reality of the words in print grabbed me. To the world I really was dead. I bit my lip as tears pooled in my eyes. So much for my stoic facade.

  “Well, that display of nonchalance lasted a long time, Jen.” His tone sounded mocking. He reached over and patted my shoulder. “Good try at it though.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Probably would, except I confess my sins, regularly. Keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

  “I’m sure.” I scrunched my mouth in disbelieving disgust.

  He exhaled deep and long. “Jen, please. I was trying to lighten things up here. I didn’t mean to tease you.”

  I snorted. “Right.”

  He looked peeved, then a bit wounded. “Look, lady. Have I hurt you? Have I mistreated you? Have I molested you?” His words came zipping at me like automatic weapon fire.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Okay, then.” His anger fizzled.

  But I wasn’t through. I was tired, irritated, and trapped. My tongue-lashing began in earnest. “Oh, you’ve been the perfect host.” I stood with my palms jabbed into my hips. “You kidnap me, drug me, leave me here alone in an, an”—I waved my hand around the room—“oversized coffin in the pitch black.”

  “Coffin? Coffin, you say?” He pointed at the door, and yelled. “Don’t you get it? You are in this sealed-off room so they can’t find you.”

  I stared into him.

  His eyes narrowed. “Darn it, woman. I brought you your favorite foods, let you go to the restroom when you want, gave you a pillow, blanket, water, a lamp, a book, a—”

  “Bible? Nice touch.” I waggled my finger under his nose. “And don’t judge me, Mr. Holier than Thou.”

  His jaw steeled. His Irish eyes blazed. Every muscle in his upper arm rippled. I’m sure the words he mumbled under his breath would’ve burned my ears.

  I jumped back as he pivoted to my face, his fists clenched. They hung in mid-air, and then one dropped to his side. He raised a finger at me, shook it at my nose as his face reddened even more. Then, with a wipe of his hand across his head, he turned to pace the floor. I’m sure I saw steam rising from his head.

  Minutes passed. My feet were cemented to the concrete, afraid to flinch until I noticed his arm muscles slowly ease, a sign his scorched mood was melting. I’d seen a new facet to this dark jewel. It wasn’t pretty.

  “Sit down.” The command was even, voice low.

  I did as I was told. He turned and stood in front of me, legs planted apart and stiff. He peered down at me as I perched on the edge of the couch. “Let’s start over, okay?”

  I nodded. His blue eyes softened. I watched his chest swell and slowly deflate to normal.

  “Jen.” He took another cleansing breath, and then proceeded. “Robert and I’ve been colleagues a long time. We are, well, like freelance errand boys for the agency. The government tells us what they need done, and we do it. I’m called an asset, you see.”

  My heart jumped. “Are? Do?”

  “What?”

  I jolted to grab his shirt. “You said we are. You and Robert are, not were.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  He waved the thought away. “I meant me. I am, he was. Sorry.” He took my hands and lowered them.

  I grasped at the straw, refusing to let go of the thought. “He’s alive, isn’t he? You said it was the original plan. You faked his death, too. Just like mine.” My eyes darted back and forth, my mind racing. “I heard his voice when I was just coming to. I’ve heard it since.”

  Tom’s eyes widened, just briefly, but long enough for me to see what I’d said surprised him. I peered into his face, searching for a chink in the armor, a crack in this veneer of a story.

  He stepped forward and squared my shoulders. “No, Jen. Sorry. No.”

  I gulped back a sob. “No?”

  The blue in his eyes floated with emotion. “No.” He stroked my hair. “He’s gone, honey. The Robert you knew is no more. Really.”

  I looked at his face, blurred through my tears. It seemed transparent with sincerity.

  Tom swallowed hard. “I wish it wasn’t the case. I honestly loved the guy.”

  “So did I,” I squeaked, then folded myself onto the couch. He’d thrust a needle into my balloon of hope. It deflated into the pit of my stomach.

  “I know that, Jen.” His voice was velvet and low. “So did Robert.”

  I closed my eyes and laid my head in my hands.

  He gently touched my arm. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Jen. Your imagination has been getting the better of you. It’s my fault for leaving you alone down here. But those were my orders, hon.”

  I nodded, and buried my head further into my palms.

  He was silent for a few moments. Then in a low tone, he said,
“Get yourself together. I’ll be back in an hour or so. I need to check in.”

  Tom’s footsteps faded, then the whirr came and went. I was alone once more. But this time, I was glad. I needed to weep in solitude, despite the black spy-dome on the ceiling.

  * * *

  I sat on the couch with my arms laced behind my head and stared at the ceiling. My brain was numb. Tired of thinking, tired of crying, tired of being. My eyelids hurt from the salty tears. I no longer cared what happened to me—well, almost.

  So the world thought I was dead. Next week, the missionary relief fund that had sponsored my parents’ excursions would get my life insurance check. My distant cousins would divvy up my annuity for their kids’ college funds. The stray cat would slither off to find another softhearted victim. Someone else would balance the quarterly figures at work. The earth would keep revolving.

  What would happen to my grandmother’s buffet or my mother’s wedding china? I shrugged. Who knew? Funny, I’d never thought of all that before. Why would I have at the age of thirty-one?

  I crunched my knees to my chest and wrapped my hands over them. What was going to happen to me? Would Tom go ahead with this act, play with my emotions, then eventually do me in? Or would he fly me to some distant land and pretend we were husband and wife? People were abducted every day. I remembered a young girl who finally escaped after years of captivity. But no one had declared her dead. Just missing. Her family never gave up hope.

  It wasn’t the case with me. I’d have to prove I still existed. Until then, like that girl, I must play along and wait to make my move. Whether it was today or three years from now, I’d have to be secretly on my guard.

  I looked at the dome and narrowed my eyes. I could participate in this game. I had no other choice. Tom had made that very clear.

  “You win,” I whispered to the ceiling. No thump came in response.

  * * *

  Tom came back, now dressed in jeans and a collared Polo shirt. His cologne was freshly applied, his face clean shaven. I stared at him, wondering what roles we were going to play now.

  He knitted his brows, then softened them. “Look, if you promise to cooperate…” He placed two fingers on the butt of the gun jutting out of his jeans. “I’ll let you come upstairs and shower, okay? I have a change of clothes waiting for you.”

  I turned back to stare at the ceiling. “Do you plan to watch?”

  “More than that.” His tone iced over. “I plan to be in there with you and ravish you over and over, all sudsy and wet.”

  I whipped my head around, my mouth open.

  He grinned from ear to ear. “Gotcha.”

  I rolled my eyes, then lifted myself from the sofa and headed for the door, conscious of his eyes on me, most likely as they had been on Bouncy Bow at Bob’s Burgers.

  He stopped at the dark rectangle in the ceiling, then raised his hand. On silent command, a stairway lowered. He motioned upward. “Go ahead.”

  “You first.” I dropped my hands to my skirt.

  His cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “Okay, but when you get to the top, turn right. I’ll be waiting. Just keep to the hall and away from any rooms with windows. We have a visitor staked out across the street I’d rather you not meet.”

  “Why, because he’s a cop?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then why risk this? Why not give me more baby wipes and leave me in the coffin?”

  He inhaled. “I wish you’d quit referring to it like that.”

  “It seems appropriate,” I said as we ascended the stairs. “I am, after all, dead.”

  He made no comment, just the next directive. “Let’s go.”

  I climbed up after him, trying not to notice the tight muscles in his backside, and then followed him through another unadorned and grayish-green concrete hallway about ten paces to a partially opened door. Two other doors on the other side of the hall were closed. His quarters?

  “Well, go on in.”

  Obediently, I peeked inside. A shower, a toilet, and a wall-hung sink. The place smelled of bleach cleanser and the porcelain sparkled. Bad at housekeeping, huh?

  An opaque skylight perched out of reach by at least six feet, but no window. Daylight streamed through from above, accenting the sterile feel of the room. Bug carcasses lay in the edges of the glass. I knew how they felt.

  The door closed softly behind me. I waited for a lock to click. None did. No lock on the knob on my side, either. Probably protocol. Whatever.

  I turned to see a T-shirt and jeans hanging on the back of the door. A pair of hiking tennis shoes lay in the corner with a pair of underwear and socks draped on top. No need to look at the tags. They’d be my size and brands.

  I jumped at the tap on the door. “Is it all you need? Did I forget anything?”

  I scanned the rest of the room. A toothbrush and toothpaste nestled above the spigots on the sink. A towel and a washcloth lay neatly folded on the commode lid. On top of them lay a woman’s disposable razor, deodorant and a hair brush. I pulled back the shower curtain to see shampoo and soap perched on a bench. What? No hairdryer so I could electrocute him?

  “It’s fine, thanks.” But he already knew it, didn’t he?

  “Okay. I’m walking away, now. I’ll be just down the hall. The audio is on. Sorry.”

  I looked to see a familiar black dome bearing down at me. “Geez. Just audio, Tom? No video? Sure that’s protocol?”

  In a pig’s eye. Okay, let him get his jollies then. I undressed, stepped into the shower, and swished the curtain closed. I made sure I took my sweet time under the scorching stream of water. His turn to wait for a change.

  * * *

  Tom wasn’t there when I opened the bathroom door.

  “Run,” my brain yelled, but as soon as my muscles registered the command he appeared in the hall, outlined by another skylight behind him at the far end.

  “All done?”

  I nodded, running the towel through my hair. He meandered toward me. Then he stopped, hands in his pockets, and leaned against the opposite wall.

  “Hate to see the hot water bill after that long shower you took. Glad we’ll be bailing from this place.”

  “We are?” I stopped, not sure if this was a good thing or not.

  He looked perplexed, maybe a little peeved. “Yes, I told you so.”

  I pivoted and hung the towel on a hook inside the bathroom door. “Now?”

  He reached down to pick up a small backpack. It was the same grayish-green as the walls. Definitely old Army surplus. “Yes. Right now.”

  He brushed past me into the bathroom, gathered the toiletries, and shoved them in the bag. “Here,” he pushed it toward me. “Take it. It has a change of underwear and another T-shirt. We’re traveling light.”

  I grabbed the bag. It was light. Obviously it didn’t hold any of his things. Guy’s clothes were heavy, at least Robert’s had always seemed so. “What about you?”

  He pointed. “Mine’s down there.” A similar backpack lay under the skylight’s beam—worn, well-used, generic.

  He pulled a trash bag from his pants pocket, shook it open, and stuffed my dirty clothes into it. I watched him at his task. “What are you doing?”

  “Preparing to destroy evidence.”

  I lunged for the bag. Tom pulled it away.

  “That’s my favorite blouse and skirt you’re trashing.”

  He didn’t bother to look up. “I know. So do they. Which is why I’m getting rid of them.”

  They again. I was sick and tired of this proverbial they. Maybe this guy was psychotic…and paranoid. I shoved the thought deep into my gray cells.

  Another voice inside me, somewhat resembling my father’s stern tone, surfaced…yet, it was still mine as well. Let’s not venture there, Jen. Not yet. You need some evidence he’s lying to you. Remember, you must be patient and observant. Play it cool and pacify him for now. Had God just spoken to me?

  Tom bore a hole through me with his stare. “U
h, as in now?” It was a semi-command.

  I blinked. “Oh. Right.”

  He pulled me gently by the elbow down the hall, grabbed his backpack without slowing his stride, and led us around the corner to another steel door. I glanced to see the butt of his gun tucked in his belt again.

  “Are we—I mean, am I really in that much danger?”

  He pulled his jacket closed. “Yes. The men who killed your husband will kill us both if they find out I faked your death. That’s why we only have a small window of opportunity here and you wasted half of it in the shower.”

  “I’m sorry, Tom. It just felt so good to get clean.”

  His expression eased. “Yeah, I know. But we have to go. Okay?”

  Sincerity, etched with a touch of dread, seemed to swim in his blue eyes. I nodded.

  He stopped and squared my shoulders again. “Jen. I need you to do two things for the next twenty-four hours. One…” He held up a stiffened finger. “Trust me.” He waited for my nod. “Two, don’t question what I tell you, just do it.”

  I nodded again as I bit my lower lip.

  He studied my face for a moment. “Good. When I open this door we will go through a corridor into the next building and ascend another flight of steps as quietly as possible.”

  His words sank into my head. The fact I had been underground, just as I was each day at work, sent a brief shudder through me. Was that why my work station had been moved to the lower levels about the same time Tom arrived? Was it part of a master plan to keep me out of view from “them?”

  How ironic my pitch-black coffin-cage of the last few days had been underground as well. Appropriate somehow. Since Robert’s death, my whole world had seemed buried. I often thought they might as well have dumped the dirt over me five months ago. One thing this captivity with Tom had taught me. I now knew, even after all those months of grief, I still wanted to live. I was stronger than I thought.

  “Jen, listen to me, okay?” Tom shook me slightly.

  “Okay.” I refocused on his words.

  “You will hear restaurant noises. Ignore them. Just go to the end of the hall to the back door. An Oriental girl will be there. She’ll be wearing jeans like yours. She’s with me. Trust her and do as she says. Go with her quickly. Don’t look back or acknowledge me. We don’t know each other. Just follow her and get on the first bus that comes. Got it?” He shoved a day pass into my hand.