by April Hill
* * * * *
The next few hours of Beth's life were a blur of images and sensations rather than real memories. A vague, grayish memory of being dragged down a flight of stairs, one painful bump at a time. The pain didn't seem to be connected to her, though, but to another woman, who seemed familiar, if her hair had been combed. But Beth was too distracted by the voice shouting at her to think about the woman on the stairs, and she was relieved when the other woman abruptly disappeared, leaving her with one less thing to make sense of.
Now she was somewhere else, without understanding how she got there—or here. There was a bottle of water in her hand, and the voice was still shouting, ordering her to swallow a handful of very small pills, which she did, ignoring the other voice in her throbbing head telling her that swallowing pills probably wasn't such a nifty idea, under the circumstances. She was so terribly thirsty, though, and her throat was sore, her head ached, and the pills were really pretty small. Why the hell not?
After the pills, though, the blur began to turn black, and then she just wasn't there any more.
* * * * *
The next thing Beth didn't really remember was that her throat hurt was still hurting, and she was even thirstier. Her mouth was dry as sandpaper, and now, she couldn't be certain if that was from thirst, or fear. Now she was also awake enough to know that she should be afraid.
It took several more minutes before some of it began to come back. Kruger had stuck something in her arm. That was in the bedroom. She was sure of that part, and the part about being in her basement. And afterward, he had obviously brought her here, for some reason—wherever here was. She remembered reading somewhere that pain sharpens your senses and helps you to focus, so she bit her lip as hard as she could, until she tasted blood. Not much better, and it hurt like hell, but after a moment she understood where she was.
On her stomach, on a concrete floor. Cold. Her hands were tied behind her back, but aside from that, she wasn't restrained. Her vision was still too bleary to make out much, but the slant of the sunlight coming through a small window high above her head suggested that it was early to mid-afternoon. (She had learned that in her two misspent years as a Girl Scout.) A basement, then, but not her own, now. Kruger's probably. It could have been another basement, of course, anywhere, but even in the semi-darkness, she could tell that the arrangement here was almost the same as hers— maybe a few feet wider.
She was dizzy and disoriented, and what worried her most was that she was couldn't account for the missing hours. Counting back to the moment when she'd left Adam's, and allowing for the time she'd spent searching for the cats, she calculated that she'd been in Felix Kruger's disagreeable company for around four hours, even if she didn't remember most of it. What she did remember, or thought she remembered, was being in a kind of tunnel—dragged on some sort of rolling device. A dream, maybe? Maybe this whole thing will turn out to be nothing but a really bad dream, she thought. But that made her remember the chilling scene in Rosemary's Baby where Mia Farrow's bad "tunnel" dream turns out not to be a dream, after all. Beth didn't have long to wait to discover that this wasn't a bad dream, either. It was a living nightmare.
"Ah, Miss Walker, thank heavens you're finally awake!" Kruger's voice. Pleasant. Soft. No more shouting, at least. At first, the voice—his voice—seemed to be coming from inside her head, but when he spoke again, she realized that he was actually standing directly in back of her. "In my haste to complete the details of the little drama I've been planning for all of us, I was worried that I might have misjudged the dosage of the drug I administered. I would hate to have you miss the final act, as it were."
When he came from behind her, Kruger was carrying a plastic lawn chair and some rope, and when he sat down with his legs crossed, Beth suddenly knew whom he reminded her of: Truman Capote. With someone else's voice. Maybe Anthony Hopkins. If Anthony Hopkins didn't have a British accent. Oops, make that a Welsh accent. Beth tried harder to concentrate. Kruger's face seemed to be drifting in and out of focus, and now she couldn't remember her birthday, or her full name, or why she didn't have shoes on. She was still trying to remember the name of the Anthony Hopkins movie where he played a butler, when she realized that Kruger had just said something about Adam. Adam had known the she was going to the house. He had to have followed her here! For the first time in her life, Beth knew that she was completely ready to take a spanking for one of her misadventures.
"What did you just say?" she cried. "What about Adam?"
Kruger's short laugh was devoid of humor. "You're speaking, of course, of the police detective with whom you've been keeping company, of late. He's quite safe—for the moment, but I'm afraid he won't be joining us. How is it that old joke goes? He's been tied up, elsewhere?
"Try to imagine my surprise when I discovered the handsome Lieutenant poking about in my private tunnel while I was still in the tiring process of transporting you from your basement to my own. I dislike physical violence, but when he threatened me by reaching for his gun, I was forced to take certain measures to defend myself." He gave a black plastic device attached to his belt an affectionate pat. "A Taser, as you have probably already guessed. Modern electronics are something of a mystery to me, but this one performed exactly as advertised. Please be assured, though, that Mr. McCann was unharmed during our brief encounter."
"Where is he?" Beth screamed, her voice little more than a hoarse croak.
"He's still in the tunnel, just a few feet from here," Kruger replied, pointing to a heavy, gray steel door in the basement's rear wall. "If you listen carefully, you may be able to hear him. I believe he's attempting to kick down the door, despite being tied hand and foot. He's very strong, your charming Lieutenant, and at the moment, I'm afraid that he's very, very angry with me. The exhaust fan I installed makes a dreadful noise, but it does an excellent job of masking other sounds—such as shouting and pounding. Should I choose to turn off the fan, of course, the resulting rapid loss of air would be very unfortunate for Lieutenant McCann." Kruger smiled. "Which is why you will now do exactly what I tell you."
He knelt beside her with the rope, but when Beth began to struggle, he paused. "If you don't lie still, Miss Walker, I will be forced to turn the fan off. And then we can simply sit here, together, trying to imagine the good Lieutenant's air supply dwindling away to nothing. I understand that suffocation is a most disagreeable way to die."
Beth didn't move again, as he wrapped the rope around her knees several times, then tightened and knotted it. She could wiggle her toes, but essentially, she was hobbled.
"It's too late, you sonovabitch," she snarled. "The cops know everything! They'll be here any minute!" But even to her, the familiar threat sounded like a line from an old movie.
"No, my dear, they won't," Kruger replied, quietly. "Not in time to help you and Mr. McCann, anyway. After I disarmed and restrained the Lieutenant, I explained to him—in rather explicit detail, I'm afraid—what would happen to you if he didn't call his police friend and reschedule their planned search of your premises until tomorrow, instead of today. After our little talk, he seemed more than willing to make the call, although I'm quite sure that he wasn't being entirely honest with me when he agreed to cooperate. I would imagine he's lying there planning a thrilling escape even as we speak and an equally-daring rescue of his beloved. By the time the police do arrive, though, I will have made my escape, and the tunnel connecting our charming little homes will be under several feet of water.
"It's a shame, really, and not at all the way I would have liked to see this matter resolved. I had hoped that you would eventually give up your foolish persecution of me and move elsewhere, so that I could continue my work in peace. I had such wonderful plans, you see. I even had an extensive set of blueprints drawn up—for a lovely new home that would incorporate both my house and yard, and your own, into one large edifice. A plan in which both our dismal little basements would simply disappear into an entirely new and inaccessible foundation.
At my age, basement stairs are a problem. Arthritis, you know."
He pulled a gold pocket watch from beneath his vest and glanced at it. "Tempus fugit, my dear Miss Walker. Tempus fugit. Isn't that the way it always is? I'm afraid we'll have to move along, now. There's a good deal left to accomplish before I leave. I know that walking will be difficult for you, with your injury and being tied as you are, and I do apologize for that, but you'll have to do the best you can." He smiled again, a sickly half-smile that made Beth's stomach turn. "I'll leave you and the Lieutenant alone for a bit, while I attend to what must be done. A few valves to twist and turn this way and that. And then a great deal of water. More water than you and your Lieutenant will like, I should think."
He pulled her roughly to her feet and pushed her toward the heavy steel door. Beth was able to move in mincing little steps, but it was difficult to keep her balance, especially with the clumsy air-cast. Kruger tapped on the door, and Beth bit her bottom lip as hard as she could, trying to clear her head.
"I'm coming in, now, Lieutenant," he called through the door, "and I must ask that you don't attempt anything foolish. Not only would it be futile, but Miss Walker is with me, and I'm sure that neither of us wish to see her harmed." He listened at the door for several moments.
"I'll do what you want," Adam called through the door. "Just don't hurt her."
Beth's eyes filled with tears or relief. He was alive! She turned to face Kruger. "It won't work, you know," she said. "You've left about a zillion clues."
Kruger gave her the kind of smile that indulgent parents save for their not-terribly-bright offspring. "Has anyone ever told you that you watch far too many old movies, Miss Walker? Where justice inevitably prevails, and good triumphs over evil, and where perfectly intelligent men—criminals, I suppose you would call them—make silly last-minute mistakes that lead to their arrest as they dash for the border? While I do wish that things had gone differently, I've been planning for some years for this disagreeable eventuality. I've gathered all of the proper passports and documents, and accumulated sufficient funds to keep me in comfort for the remainder of my life. There are dozens of places left in the world where gracious living is possible, if one doesn't live extravagantly. Now, if you'll move aside, we'll go in and speak with the Lieutenant. He's been pining for you, I'm sure."
He tapped on the door again. "Stay exactly where you are, Mr. McCann. I'm still armed with the very disagreeable tool I was forced to use earlier when you behaved so badly. It's pointed directly at Miss Walker's neck." As he pulled open the cumbersome door, he turned to Beth and made a small, courtly bow. "After you, Miss Walker. And just to show you that I'm not a male chauvinist, I fully understand that you are as capable as the Lieutenant of some noble but misguided act of bravery. So my advice to you is the same. Do as I say, or the Lieutenant will pay dearly for your bravado.
"I doubt that you remember much of your trip through this tunnel," he told Beth. "Originally, it was merely a way to move back and forth between our respective basements without being seen. The excess soil was a consistent nuisance, of course, but a bit of inspired landscaping solved the problem quite nicely. And then it occurred to me that my little tunnel, as crudely constructed as it was, would make an excellent and much more appropriate resting spot for the remains of the unfortunate ladies I had been forced by space constraints to leave in your dreadful, moldy basement.
"I wonder if you fully realize the damage you've done, Miss Walker—to both of us. Before you began spying on me and making hysterical calls to the police, I was planning to make an extremely attractive, all-cash offer for that depressing little house of yours. Far more than it could hope to bring on the open market. And when both properties were in my possession and joined together, a few yards of good quality topsoil and some innovative landscaping would have made my garden a beautiful, tranquil retreat for my old age. But all of those years of sacrifice and planning were brought to nothing because of your obsession with matters that were of no concern to you. I believe the destruction of my dream is what I hate most about you."
As they stepped through the door into the tunnel, Kruger slammed the door closed and locked it, and finally, she saw Adam. Beth shuddered. He was lying on the muddy floor a few feet away, with his back against what looked like an old section of sewer pipe that had been dug out and partially exposed. His arms were tied behind his back and chained to a long pipe that extended further into the tunnel, and his ankles were bound with duct tape. Two cinderblocks had been attached to his waist with a padlocked chain. When she gasped and tried to go to him, Kruger pulled her back. In his right hand, he was holding the Taser.
"I would strongly advise against any demonstrations of stupid courage, Miss Walker. Ask Mr. McCann if he enjoyed my response to his attempt at heroics."
"Do what he says, Beth," McCann said, quietly.
She looked at him, her eyes pleading for permission to do something—anything—but Adam shook his head. "Not now, babe. He's still holding all the cards."
Kruger released his grip on her arm and sidled along the curved dirt wall of the tunnel, until he was perhaps twelve feet from them. "You may talk and scheme to your hearts' content, now," he said. "I'll be back in a few moments, and in my absence, try to remember what I said about foolish heroics." With that, he disappeared into the dim recesses of the tunnel, and Beth hobbled over and dropped down in the mud, next to Adam.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Beth nodded. "I think so. I'm kind of buzzed, but he hasn't hurt me."
"Buzzed?"
"Yeah, like being drunk without the hangover. Sort of dizzy and confused, and even that comes and goes. I can't remember much, and I'm not even sure what I remember is real."
Adam frowned. "Rohypnol, maybe. On the street, they call the pills roofies. It fits your description, and it's available. Illegal, of course, but that doesn't keep it from being as easy to come by as a Starbucks' mocha venti. As little as two to five bucks a pop, in a buyer's market."
She moved as close as she could to him. "What about you? Are you all right?"
He shrugged. "Define all right. I'm not hurt, but I still can't believe I let the sonuvbitch get the upper hand like he did. One minute I was wading through this damned mole-hole of his, and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back. At first, I thought the bastard had wired the place." He chuckled. "Electricity and wet feet. Never a great combination. But it wasn't that. That Taser he's got is a pretty heavy-duty one, from the way it felt. Last time I was at the academy, they made everyone take a couple of zaps, so we'd know what we were dealing with out on the street. It wasn't a lot of fun, but not as bad as I expected, either. Most of us were laughing about it after a couple of minutes. I was a lot younger then, I guess. This one hurt like hell."
"How did you know where I was?" she asked.
Adam shook his head, obviously annoyed. "I didn't. I was in your basement, about to head over to Kruger's place to look around, when I found the door to this tunnel. And the only reason I did find it was because there was this puddle on the floor—in front of it, and the puddle kept getting bigger. The whole damned wall was oozing water. Anyway, I started ripping off boards, and there it was—the opening to this damned hobbit-hole."
Beth sighed. "And you came to rescue me, like Indiana Jones."
"Like one of the Keystone Cops is more like it. When I rounded the bend and ran smack into Kruger, the sonofabitch got off his shot before I did. Knocked me on my ass like a rookie." He grinned. "Don't spread that around, by the way."
"We're going to die in this stupid tunnel, aren't we?"
"That depends. How's your swimming?"
"Let me put it this way. When I was six, I flunked Tadpole Class at the YMCA. No natural buoyancy, they said."
"Unless I miss my guess, this tunnel of his is crumbling, and Kruger knows it. That's why he's getting ready to skip. There's probably a major leak somewhere, which could explain why there's so much water down here. The soil is satu
rated. Hell, he may have undermined half the neighborhood. You're lucky your house hasn't disappeared into a sinkhole."
"Yeah, and what a loss that would be."
Adam grinned. "Buyer's remorse, again?"
"He talked about what he's been doing, Adam," she whispered. "It's like he's proud of it."
"I know. He's like a little kid with a new story he can't wait to tell to anybody who'll listen. After he zapped me and trussed me up like this, he couldn't stop babbling. You know why he was in the house that night—the night you reported a prowler? The damned exhaust fan wasn't working right, and since your car was in the shop again, he thought you weren't home." He chuckled. "You scared the shit out of him when you came down the stairs and blasted your grandmother's china cabinet."
"Exhaust fan?" she repeated. "That was the sucking noise? Not the sump pump?"
"Right. You don't have a sump pump. You have a fan."
"When did I buy a fan?"
"You didn't. Kruger did."
"Nice gesture," she said, wearily. "But what I could have really used was a dishwasher." She put her head in her hands and groaned. "You see what I mean? I sound like an idiot. I think I'm losing my mind."
"It's the drug. It'll be in your system for a while, yet. Maybe a couple of days."
"What about my basement? Were you right about that?"
"He's really proud of that part," Adam said, grimly. "He gave me the virtual tour. The entire back wall of your basement is a façade, from one side to the other—two feet wide, and all the way to the ceiling. But if you didn't know the space was back there, you never find it. He even showed me. Kept the Taser at my back and let me go looking for it, to prove his point. I knew it was there, but I still couldn't see it. Inside the wall, he's divided the space into tiers. Narrow plywood platforms stacked up like a lot of bunk beds, waiting for occupants. That's why you can't see in your rear basement windows. There's nothing behind the glass but solid concrete. You have to give the sonuvabitch credit. He's one hell of a carpenter, and an even better bricklayer." He glanced around. "Not much of a plumber, though."