by Diane Hoh
Reed shivered. Maybe all writers were a little unbalanced. Maybe that’s what made their creative juices flow. After all, if McCoy were ordinary, she couldn’t write extraordinary books, could she?
If she was going to work for a writer, she’d just have to get used to mood swings, that was all. And stay out of desk drawers.
By the time everyone had gone and Reed had crawled into bed, she was exhausted, and asleep in five minutes.
It was so dark, she couldn’t see her own hands. She knew they were there because she could feel the dirt beneath her fingers, but even the bright emerald ring with its brilliant gold band had disappeared into the thick, velvety curtain of blackness surrounding her.
And the silence was as thick as the blackness. The only sound was her own labored breathing, in and out, in and out, a tiny bellows bouncing off the walls of the deep, dark, cold pit.
She was so thirsty. And so cold.
When she raised her head, she could see, so high above her, a glow of light at the mouth of the pit. On its edges, sitting in a circle, were a dozen vultures, their bright, beady eyes fastened on her, their ugly wattles blowing slightly in the night breeze.
As she watched, hugging her arms around her for warmth, one of the ugly birds moved closer to the edge of the pit and spread its wings, preparing to dive.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her voice had dried up within her for lack of water, and she could not scream.
Wings outstretched, the bird dove into the pit, aiming straight at her.
Reed awoke shaking and drenched with sweat. She was freezing cold, and yanked the comforter up under her chin to get warm.
What a horrible dream! And familiar. So familiar. Had she had it before?
No, she remembered now. She hadn’t dreamed it, she had read it. The dream was a combination of two passages from two separate McCoy novels. Her dream had combined the imprisonment in the pit from Pitfall with the horrible birds from Wings of Fear.
Reed shuddered. The darker side of her own mind had paired two of McCoy’s most frightening plots to create an even more terrifying image. How weird. How scary.
And yet …
Hadn’t she wondered if she had a dark side to her mind?
Now she knew.
She knew for certain.
And was pleased.
Chapter 7
REED HAD RESOLVED NOT to do any more snooping when she was at McCoy’s. On Tuesday and Wednesday, she followed her resolution diligently. McCoy, headphones hanging around her neck, disappeared inside her office each day when Reed arrived. Reed left at four o’clock both days. The author didn’t come out to say good-bye, but she was perfectly pleasant when Reed arrived. It was as if the ugly incident when Reed had been caught snooping had never happened.
Link was not happy when Rain showed up at the fan club meeting Wednesday night. Watching them greet each other warily, Reed thought, Link looks like he could kill Rain.
Rain didn’t seem to notice. Nor did anyone else.
Debrah wanted to know if Reed had made any progress in persuading McCoy to conduct an autograph session on campus.
“No. I’ve hardly seen her. She disappears into her office with those headphones on. She might as well be on another planet.”
Debrah looked smug. “It’s not like you thought it would be, is it, Reed?”
“No, it’s not,” Reed admitted reluctantly. “But I haven’t given up on talking McCoy into an appearance on campus. There’s no hurry.”
“Well, there’s a hurry about my material,” Jude said vehemently. “When are you going to give it to her? You’re not pushy enough, Reed, that’s your problem.”
Reed frowned. “Why don’t you do it yourself then, Jude? You take your writing to McCoy, get her opinion.”
“McCoy doesn’t do that,” Rain said quietly from his seat in the front row. “She says she’s not an editor, she’s a writer.”
Jude stared at him rudely. Then he said, his voice hardening, “Well, I guess Reed will just have to talk her into making an exception in my case, won’t she? McCoy is the reason I came to this campus. She’s going to look at my work. I don’t care what I have to do to see that that happens.”
Rain shrugged.
“I’ll try, Jude,” Reed said. Anything to shut him up.
Lilith read from McCoy’s novel, Pitfall, the tale of a man who spent hours in the dark of night digging a deep hole, then imprisoned in it the young woman who was blackmailing him.
Reed shivered involuntarily, reminded of her terrible dream.
“The pit was so dark that days blended into nights, and she could no longer keep track of the time. Her terrible thirst was murderous. To avoid going mad, she scratched pictures into the earthen wall with a sharp stick she found lying in the bottom of the pit. Working painfully, diligently, she created crude drawings of what life was like above her hellhole. Bare-branched trees, tall buildings, even a fountain spouting a spray of water, stick figures of her friends, her family. They were crude, but they served their purpose … reminding her that somewhere high above her, in the clean, crisp air and the bright, warm sun, life went on as usual.
“Without her …”
When Lilith had finished reading, Rain said, “Not one of her better ones. Too passive. Nothing much happens.”
“How can anything happen,” Debrah countered, “when the heroine is stashed away in a hole in the ground.”
Something could happen, Reed thought, if there were vultures circling the mouth of the pit. Pushing away all thoughts of her dream, she said, “I liked it. I like the way she thinks about life while she’s down there. She’s completely separated from normal life, but she imagines a normal life for herself, every day.”
“Not me,” Tom Sweeney disagreed. “I like more action.” Ray Morrissey nodded agreement.
Link hadn’t read the book yet, so he said nothing. But Reed saw him shoot Rain a look of hostility when Rain spoke.
They closed the meeting early and hiked across campus to Burgers Etc. for what Jude called, “Sustenance before I sleep.”
In the restaurant, they were being silly, goofing off, when Link once again asked Rain about Carl Nordstrum, ignoring Reed’s obvious irritation when the name was mentioned.
Rain, too, was annoyed. “I’ve never understood,” he said coldly, “why everyone thinks I would know my mother’s business. It’s not as if we sit around all day talking. She spends most of her time in her office, lost in her work. If you want to know something about her business, ask her.”
So, on Thursday, because Reed knew Link wasn’t going to let go of the subject, she worked up her courage and asked the author about Carl Nordstrum.
The author’s lips tightened. “One day, out of the blue, he called to say he wasn’t coming in. That he was leaving school. Out of the blue. I had no idea he was thinking of leaving.” She shook her head, the graying mass of hair swinging across her shoulders. “It’s just as well. I know he was stealing from me. You just never know who you can trust, do you?”
She said nothing about Reed’s snooping. She seemed to have forgotten the entire episode.
Then she disappeared into her office again, telling Reed to leave at four.
When Reed had finished her work, her resolve about no more snooping began to dwindle. Why had she taken this job, anyway? To get close to a famous author, to learn the tricks of the writing trade, to find out how McCoy dug into the “dark side” of characters. None of that was happening. She was just a glorified errand-person, answering letters and the telephone—when it worked. If Carl and the other assistants had quit, it probably had nothing to do with the sinister rumors. They’d probably left from sheer boredom.
And here, sitting on either side of her, were drawers crammed full of fascinating notes and rough drafts and maybe letters from McCoy’s publisher with information about the publishing process itself.
A treasure trove of information, within easy reach.
Unloc
ked.
If she wasn’t going to learn anything, this job was a waste of time. She could be on campus having fun instead of sitting in this cold, gloomy room pecking away at an ancient typewriter. And if she wasn’t going to learn anything, why should she care if McCoy caught her snooping and fired her?
McCoy was safely in her office. The cover was on the bird cage, so Poe couldn’t spy on her and shriek an alert, which Reed didn’t doubt for a second he would do. And in the past two days, the author hadn’t emerged from her office once, not even for a few minutes.
Slowly, carefully, Reed placed her fingers around the brass handle on the bottom left desk drawer and slowly, carefully, pulled it open.
A soft breath of disappointment slid from between her lips.
The drawer was empty.
The manuscripts had been removed.
McCoy had been telling the truth when she’d said she didn’t trust anyone.
Closing that drawer, Reed opened all of the other drawers, slowly, quietly, one at a time. It took her only a few seconds to realize that nothing in them was of any importance. Old letters, all addressed in longhand, probably from friends or fans. No journals or diaries that might have told Reed something about the author and how she worked. Newspaper clippings, some old, some new, faded matchbook covers, parcel post labels, outdated calendars with no jottings on them … there was nothing in any of the drawers that seemed the least bit interesting to Reed.
She closed the top right drawer and leaned back in her chair, disappointment etched across her face.
The fan club members were counting on her to bring back information about the author and how she worked. They would all rather have been in her place, but since that wasn’t possible, they expected her to fill them in on the details of a writer’s life.
Ha. She had no information to give them. Except what she’d already said. “Victoria McCoy disappears inside her office, puts her headphones on so she can listen to horror-movie music without disturbing anyone else in the house, and doesn’t come back out.”
Well, that would certainly thrill everyone. Especially Jude. He’d say, “That’s it? That’s all you can find out? What good are you?”
Aimlessly, Reed thrust out her leg and toed open the bottom left-hand drawer again. There was a small jumble of looseleaf pages and index cards and notepaper left in its depths. No manuscripts, but … might as well check it out.
A grocery list … milk, eggs, squash, tomatoes … two index cards with what looked like possible titles of books scribbled across the top two lines … a thank-you note from someone named Marjorie, and a medium-sized white envelope, its flap closed but not glued shut.
Reed picked up the envelope, flipped it open. Inside was a small, folded sheet of lined notebook paper. Aware that she was invading someone’s privacy but past the point of caring, Reed unfolded the sheet.
In an uneven scrawl, in pencil, someone had written, Now that I know the truth, I’m afraid I will never leave this place alive.
There was no signature, no way of knowing who had penned the words.
Reed swallowed hard. What a horrible thing! To know in advance that you were going to die because of something you learned. Sounded like one of McCoy’s books …
She sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes bright with interest. Of course! McCoy must have jotted this down. A germ of an idea? The tiniest beginning of one of her books? Or had it been an ending?
Either way, it was something. McCoy probably carried one of those small spiral notebooks around with her, the kind you could flip open in a hurry, and jotted down ideas as they came to her, in the grocery store, out in the woods, in her office, at night when she awakened from a deep sleep.
Which book was it from? Reed strained to recall which McCoy plot had been centered around someone being afraid they’d never leave a place because they knew too much. Not The Wheelchair or Cat’s Play. Maybe Pitfall? The blackmailing captive in that book had certainly known too much.
That could be it.
Or it could even be an idea that had been discarded.
That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, though. Reed wanted to believe that an entire novel had sprung from the piece of paper she was holding in her hand.
She’d take it to the next meeting, see what everyone else thought about what she’d found. No one was going to miss a tiny little piece of paper that had been lying in the bottom of a desk drawer for who knew how long. She slipped it into her jeans pocket and closed the drawer.
Although it was only three forty-five, she decided to leave. If she was going to be sitting around, she’d rather be sitting around in her room. McCoy wouldn’t even know she’d gone.
But she’d barely set foot outside the house when her spine began to tingle. It wasn’t dark yet, but the pine trees were so tall, they blocked out the light. It might as well have been night. Maybe she should have waited for Link, after all.
Telling herself she was being silly, that there was nothing in the pine grove that hadn’t been there earlier that day, Reed took a deep breath and left the safety of the house.
It was cold, very cold. The sky overhead was slate-gray and the air smelled of more snow to come. Reed glanced up nervously, scanning the tops of the pine trees for any sign of black, flapping wings, even though Poe had been sleeping in his cage when she left. Something didn’t feel right, but she had no idea what it was. Maybe it was just that this was the first time she’d walked back from the house alone.
Her mother would say, “It’s from reading too many McCoy novels.”
Reed smiled to herself and took another step forward.
And the ground opened up beneath her and there was nothing but air under her feet and she was falling, falling …
Chapter 8
REED FELL, FEET FIRST, down a long, dark shaft so narrow that her arms, flailing wildly, slammed against the walls as she fell. Too breathless with shock to scream, she let out only a series of small, terrified gasps. Her hands grasped outward for something to clutch, something to stop her dizzying descent. But there was nothing. Nothing but air.
When she landed, every last breath was knocked out of her. Her legs slammed into the ground first. Pain shot up her body from her feet to the top of her head, and she cried out. Her body folded in upon itself like an accordion, crumpling into a heap at the bottom of the hole.
Reed had no idea how long she lay there, stunned and aching. When she finally roused herself, her eyes met nothing but darkness. She was surrounded by damp, icy cold. She tilted her head upward, groaning in pain with the effort, and saw that the light at the mouth of the shaft was not as far away as she’d expected. Still, although she hadn’t fallen so very far, after all, it seemed like miles. And if there wasn’t a way out, it might as well be miles.
But, of course, there had to be a way out.
Where was she? Why had the ground gone out from underneath her like that? She’d walked along exactly the same path she’d taken before from the house. Had the hole always been there? If it had, why hadn’t she stumbled across it sooner? And why hadn’t Rain warned her about it?
Something soft and furry scuttled across her right hand. She screamed and jumped to her feet, shaking the thing off, and then screamed again as lightning bolts of pain zigzagged up her legs.
But I’m not dead, she told herself, bending to gingerly check her legs. The bones seemed intact. I’m not dead. I hurt all over, and I hate this place, and I don’t know how I’m going to get out, but I’m not dead.
But she couldn’t stay here. It was so cold, she could freeze to death in no time at all.
She had to get a grip. When the dizziness left her, she would have to climb back out.
But when she put her hands out, some time later, to search the walls of her dank, dark pit, her fingers touched only smooth, cold cement. Nothing to grip. Nothing to dig her fingers into to haul herself up to the surface.
Reed forced herself to stay calm, deliberately evening out her breathing to k
eep from panicking. There could be a ladder. There had to be a ladder. There had to be some way she could climb out of this awful dark hole in the ground.
This pit.
There was no ladder.
And although she tried again and again, placing her palms flat against the wall in an effort to gain some traction, each time her hands slid free. The cement walls of her pit were so smooth, they might as well have been buttered.
Her legs ached unbearably. And it was so very cold.
Giving up, letting tears of frustration and fear slide down her cheeks, Reed sank to the ground hopelessly.
How long did it take to freeze to death?
“Reed?”
When she heard her name called the first time, Reed was sure she had imagined it. She wanted out of this awful place so badly, she was hearing things.
But it came again. Link’s voice. “Reed, are you down there?”
She pulled herself to her feet. “Yes! Yes, I am! Get me out, please!”
“Are you okay?”
She could see his face then, peering over the edge of the pit. “Yes, I think so. Just get me out. Hurry!”
“I’ll have to go get a rope.”
“No, wait!”
“At McCoy’s. Hang on!”
When his face disappeared, Reed felt sick. Someone had been there, and now no one was. She was alone again.
But she knew he’d had no choice. He couldn’t get her out without a rope.
When Link returned, Rain was with him. He leaned over the edge of the pit, his face white with fear. “Reed? Reed, are you okay?”
“I told you she’s okay,” Link said impatiently, “now help me with this rope. We’ve got to get her out of there.”
It seemed to take forever. They dropped a rope for Reed to tie around her waist. Then, when it was secure, they hauled her up. The shaft was so narrow, Reed kept banging against the cement walls. She tried to help by pushing with her hands against the cement, scraping the skin off her palms.
Finally, she was close enough to the lip of the hole to pull herself up over the edge. She lay there, panting heavily, thinking that the ground had never, ever felt so good to anyone.