“Look, look, do you remember this?” I say, smoothing the pages of the book flat, gesturing with my finger to the picture of the brooch.
Leaning over, he studies the picture but no look of comprehension crosses his face. Shrugging his shoulders, he asks, “Should I?”
“Yes, don’t you remember the day….” And I launch into the story about the wild man who scared us half to death and insisted we take the brooch back to camp.
Vic looks at the picture more closely. “I guess? I forgot about that ugly thing, are you sure this is the same brooch?”
As I start to answer him, I sense the presence of someone moving closer, staring, and eavesdropping on our conservation. I glance up; feeling uneasy and see a very large man, one of the employees working behind the counter feigning a disinterested posture. But I know he’s edged closer, pretending to rearrange the jewelry in the display case. I know……he’s listening. I lower my voice to a whisper, “Yes, I would recognize it anywhere and according to the book that ugly thing is worth a quarter of a million dollars!”
“Get out of here. You don’t still have it, do you?” Vic asks in an incredulous voice not the least bit hushed.
“Shhhhh…..” I notice the large man’s head snap up, as he leans in even closer, pretending to straighten his tie in the mirror on the counter next to us. There is something vaguely familiar about him, his size, the dark mane of hair pulled back into a braid that reaches down the middle of his back. His one hand has a jagged scar running up his wrist disappearing under his shirt sleeve. I have this feeling, I’m missing something, some piece of a puzzle, a sinking feeling in my gut……but I just can’t place it.
“I’m sorry, but I just have to ask,” interrupts a slightly overweight middle aged woman with hair too black to be real. Only her hairdresser, a bottle of Miss Clairol and a long line of Italian ancestors could produce hair that shade of black. Teased into a bouffant style and held in place with a long scarf, she looks like a gypsy fortune teller. “I will never forgive myself if I don’t ask, but you look so much like Esteban Diego. I mean, who would expect to find a movie star in the Adirondack museum, but really, you look just like him. You are him, aren’t you? My girlfriends will be soo jealous. Please sign my museum guidebook.”
I stare at her incredulously….sign your museum guidebook? My mind screams……I’m thinking of placing the guidebook somewhere where the sun don’t shine, lady….your girlfriends won’t be so jealous then..….Go away!
“You know, I had someone ask me that last month.” Vic answers smoothly. “Who is this guy, did you say he was some baseball player?” He shrugs. “I don’t think I could even spell his name? What was it again?”
“Oh, come on, really? Your girlfriend must know who he is, that hot Latino actor who plays Sentar in the movie, FireBrand.” She insists in a wheedling voice.
I frown. Girlfriend, girlfriend?…. how does she know I’m not his wife…hey, he’s asked me……..lots of times….maybe I better start saying yes……..I need a wedding ring with a big rock to keep away his horde of circling female vultures.
“Vic, darling, let’s take this book. It’s getting late and we need to head home.” I cajole him, knowing he feels bad lying about his identity, but before you know it, there would be a swarm of autograph hunters. Rude or not, I want out of here. “We have plans for dinner, so if you’ll please excuse us.” I nod to her, pulling him toward the exit. Liar, liar, pants on fire…..again. Boy, when I finally get in that confessional, the priest better have a lunch, a six pack of beer, and a blanket…it’s going to be a long day.
“I’m sorry,” he says, taking the woman’s guidebook, signing his name. “This is the best I can do.”
“Vic Rienz,” she scowls at the piece of paper. “Thanks for nothing.” She stalks off in a snit throwing the pamphlet into the nearest trash bin.
“Little does she know,” he shakes his head. “She had the real thing; a true fan would know my family name.” This is his way of separating the sincere fan from the autograph hunters.
“Come on, hot stuff; let’s get you out of here.” I mutter under my breath.
In my haste to leave the museum, I fail to notice the large dark man from the gift shop running across the parking lot, and slide into a grey van with darkened windows. The van merges onto Route 28, and stays a few car lengths behind us, surreptitiously following, but not too close. But close enough to make the turn onto the deserted road, stopping short of our driveway, watching and waiting. Who has the stalker now?
Chapter 44 Jolib The rain, razor-thin and mean with cold produces a miserable drizzle slicing through bones and into the spirit. More telling for a day in early April; and certainly unseasonable for Memorial Day weekend. The sort of morning when a reasonable person snuggles in bed; or at the very least, lingers over a second cup of coffee. But Cyrus, whining and scratching at the door has other ideas. A glance out the window reveals dark swirling mists hovering in the pines; the raindrops cling, sliding down bent tree branches, stretching closer to the ground like shadows behind a silver curtain.
Rather than disturb Vic, I silently creep out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. He’s exhausted from the tedious all day publicity shoots and interviews necessary for the launch of the new movie. Along with the predawn work out sessions to maintain his physical conditioning, he needs his beauty sleep.
In the kitchen, I turn on the coffee pot, looking forward to a hot cup of coffee after my walk. Grabbing Cyrus’s leash from a hook by the door, I slip out onto the porch, inhaling the fresh damp morning air. Checking to ensure the security code is clear, I head down the dirt road at a brisk pace. Cyrus gives an excited bark and picks up a stick chasing after me, insisting we play fetch. Scanning the trees, I see songbirds flitting back and forth between the branches. In the distance, the sweet whistle of the white-throated sparrow calling Sam, Peabody, Peabody, Peabody anchors one to the mountains in spring.
Only the steady crunch of my feet on the gravel road punctuates the stillness of the deep woods. Lani and Jason along with Trey and Hanna are coming for the long weekend. It will be the first time the family has been together since Christmas where someway,
somehow……everyone got along famously. I can’t wait to see them again. I wish Josh were joining us. Maybe next time. I need to be patient, good things come to those who wait…but I’m tired of waiting…….
Hitching up the collar of my jacket against the damp, I divert my attention to the preparations for the weekend ahead. The beds are made with fresh sheets, small bouquets of wildflowers are strategically placed in each bedroom. Pillows stuffed with balsam fir needles are tucked into nooks and crannies throughout the house giving a pungent welcome to the Adirondacks. As my feet move along the road, my mind runs through the menu I’ve planned for the weekend, mentally checking my list to ensure everything is in place to create sumptuous feasts for my family. I’m in way over my head, but I’ve been practicing some of the recipes Bridget gave me. The Barefoot Contessa, I’m not, but with a marathon of cooking shows to my credit, I might pull it off.
I’m so preoccupied with preparations for the weekend;; I don’t hear the branches cracking in the undergrowth behind me until Cyrus growls and barks. I whirl to catch a blur of movement and a vicious yank on my arm slams me against the rock hard chest of an unseen assailant. A rag with a disgustingly sweet cloying smell is shoved against my mouth and nose cutting off the flow of fresh air. Ether, my rapidly fogging brain manages to register. I hear Cyrus barking frantically.
My heels skid across the gravel, the light fades as I’m dragged into the woods away from home and safety. … Damp wood smoke, the acrid smell of a fireplace left unattended, half burned logs lying in a bed of soggy ashes brings me to consciousness. Simply turning my head produces a shearing pain radiating from the base of my skull to slam into the back of my eyes. A small whimper escapes my throat. Dear God, where am I…. what’s happened to me? A numbing, stabbing pain screams up my arms and legs as I try to move
, my hands and feet are tied. Opening my eyes, I see the sheen of duct tape in the faint light binding my hands tightly in front of me, cutting off circulation and any hope of moving freely. Screaming will do no good as my mouth is taped closed. Rolling to a half seated position, I see dust motes float in the wane light filtering through windows streaked with grime, half hidden by shades tattered and ripped through years of hard use. Walls of rough-cut lumber painted an insipid green popular in the 1950’s stare back at me. From my limited viewpoint, the room is furnished with a table and three badly battered chairs; the bed I’m lying on is pushed against the wall farthest from the hearth. A rudely constructed cupboard and countertop hold a meager assortment of food items, neatly stacked. Who lives here….and why am I here? Why would someone want to do this to me? What time is it? Has Vic missed me yet? Surely he must realize something’s wrong.
Pain and despair nearly spiral me back into the oblivious peace of unconsciousness. I close my eyes and listen, paying attention for any sound indicating I’m not alone. Moments of silence follow. I will my legs to swing over the side of the bed, sitting up gives me a better vantage point to survey the surroundings in hopes of finding a way to escape or seek help.
The door is ten feet away from the bed. Can I hop or roll to the door with my hands and legs tied? I need to free my hands. Frantically searching for any object to slice through the duct tape, I spy an ax lying next to the hearth. Hopping slowly, icicles of pain shoot up my legs, yet I manage to reach the hearth. Crouching down, I wiggle my fingers to place the small ax in position between my feet, and slowly and painfully saw at the tape wrapped around my wrists, gasping in panic at the thought of my abductor returning. At last my hands break free of the bonds, I almost scream as the blood rushes into my fingers bringing blessed pain and relief. Choked with fear, I claw at the tape holding my legs prisoner. As the last piece falls away, I streak for the door, only to have it flung open before I can reach the knob. The force of the door opening sends me crashing into the table, scattering chairs across the room.
A huge dark man with a mane of black hair flowing down to his waist fills the doorway with his presence. His eyes glitter with malevolence, his beard spattered with spittle as he screams, “You, stupid bitch!”
His long arm snakes out, cruelly grabbing my elbow yanking me to my feet. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Dropping my arm, he rears back, slashes the air with his huge paw of a hand, and slaps me across the face, sending me careening back, smacking my head against the wall. An explosion of violent color and pain blind me, as my body goes slack in shock at the assault upon it. I’ve never felt such pain in my entire life. The room spins, his voice a distant throbbing against my ears, muted, muffled like a tape recorder played in slow motion. I start sinking into the black abyss of
unconsciousness, only to be cruelly pulled to my feet, tossed like a rag doll on to the bed with a wrenching jolt.
His fetid breath hisses in my ear, “You will not die until you tell me what I need to know, you lying stealing whore! Do you hear me?” He shakes my body in cadence with his fury. “Do…you…hear…me!”
“Wh… what are you talking about?” I manage to rasp out of a throat, parched by fear, ether fumes, and lack of water. God knows how long I’ve laid here. Fear permeates the very core of my being. What does this insane man want from me? Is he some depraved fan of Vic’s, jealous over his wife or girlfriends’ obsession, one of my student’s parents or a family member? Wild speculations run rampant through my head. Desperation causes me to grasp at any idea explaining this man’s crazy behavior. Who drugs a person, kidnaps and holds someone hostage, especially me. Seriously, I’m a fifth grade school teacher; this must somehow be connected to Vic or a random act of violence.
“You know what I’m talking about!” My vision diminished due to the rapid swelling of my eye, takes in this wild apparition of a man, and recognition shoots through my brain, sending fear, and dread cascading in a rush of adrenalin. Oh, my God, it’s the man from the museum. Gone is the neat and tidy appearance of the bookstore employee. It’s the man leaning over the counter, listening in on my conversation with Vic. Over the book. No!…..no, not again. The broach! Pure terror bursts in my chest, snatching my breath away, rendering me speechless.
“Answer me!” He says, threading his hand through my hair, twisting my head so my face is posed just inches below him, his breath reeking of alcohol and rage. I barely recognize him, his hair unbound, the wild look in his eyes, clothes dirty and disheveled.
“Stop,” I plead in a whispered croak. “Get off me, I can’t breathe.”
“You’re not giving the orders here, you lying thief!” He rolls off me to tower above the bed. A black hulking hallucination from hell. “I’ve waited too long for this day. You will tell me where you put it ….now! He rages, grabbing my chin between his powerful hands; squeezing with enough force to break my jaw.
I sob, “I, I don’t know…..I don’t know what you want.” I pause, my lungs burning as I drag in much needed air, desperately willing my brain to think. What does he want? “Please don’t hit me again….please.” I whimper, ashamed of the fear paralyzing me. “If you tell me, maybe I can give you what you want.”
“The brooch, you stupid woman.” He lurches to the head of the bed, shaking the footboard with fury, causing the bed to buck and roll, sending a wave of nausea through me.
The brooch, of course. That accursed thing has come back to haunt me again, this time to kill me. In the foggy recesses of my brain, I try to piece together what he wants to know about the brooch.
“The one in the book?” I ask, instinctively bracing myself for another blow.
“Yes, you have it, I know you have it.” He glowers down at me with a twisted sneer on his face. “I heard the two of you talking when you didn’t think I was listening.”
He is the man from the museum. With my mind racing, I try to remember, did I tell Vic about this man? I was so upset over finding a picture of the brooch in the book; I just wanted to block out the whole incident. I don’t think I told him. I don’t know….I don’t
remember…..why didn’t I listen to my gut. If Vic remembers my suspicions then he may have a clue of where to start searching for me. If I tell this mad man the brooch is no longer in my possession, he’ll kill me and leave me here. No one will find me.
Think….think…think… I press a fingertip against my temple, willing my brain to work. I have to stall him long enough for Vic to find me. How did I get here, where are we? I can smell the scent of balsam trees in the air, so we must still be in the mountains. But where?
“Why do you think I have it?” I question him hoping to buy time, feverishly thinking of ways to delay my untimely death.
“I gave it to you and that stupid smartass boyfriend of yours, years ago. I’ve spent the last thirty years of my life searching for it.” He screams at me, lurching closer to my huddled form on the bed. He grabs my throat, pinning my body to the headboard as he slowly closes his hand over my windpipe. “Give it back to me. Where do you have it?” He growls. “Shall I keep choking you? I can easily snap your neck. Just a little pressure here.” He exerts more force on my throat. “Are you going to cooperate with me?”
I claw frantically at his hand while trying to nod my head held in his death grip. I collapse, coughing and gasping as he releases his hold. “It’s buried.” I choke out, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. I study the face of this man holding me hostage through a haze of pain. Jolib! That crazy hermit Vic and I met in the woods so many years ago. The man who stuffed the brooch in my pack. How could I have been so stupid, not to recognize him. The familiar nagging feeling I had yesterday, the premonition of foreboding. I merely shrugged it off as a silly woman’s intuition, now has come back to haunt me.
“What do you mean it’s buried? Where did you put it?” He roars at me.
“Why do you want it, the thing is cursed. You know that. The brooch caused me nothing but heartach
e, so I got rid of it.” I sob, pleading with him. “You saw the book, it’s true.”
“It’s mine;; I never should have given it to you.” He stumbles around the room, clutching fistfuls of hair in his hands. Moaning, “It’s mine, mine, it belongs to my family. Give it back, give it back.”
“But you have a job and a life. Aren’t you afraid of the curse? I lost my boyfriend, a baby and husband because of that damned thing.” He lifts his head from his hands, eyes bleary with obsession, greed and lust. I hesitate in the face of such madness. “I can try to find where I buried it, or just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. This will be our little secret. If you need money, I’m sure I could come up with….
“No! Stop!” He screams, dropping his trembling hands to his side. “It’s not about money.” He halts his pacing to glare at me. “Where did you bury it?”
“Off a hiking trail, about two years ago.” I feel the sting of pain in my heart. The memories come flooding back. The grief and agony of loss I felt as I scrabbled in the earth, digging, deeper and deeper praying never to see that damned brooch again. And now this man wants me to find it.
“Where?!” He roars shaking the bed. I glance out the grimy windows; twilight has set in, the light gone from the day. The gloaming hour, despair fills me. Panic threatens to overwhelm me.
“I can find it.” I lie, my mind scrambling back to the day I buried the brooch. I purposely put it in an obscure spot, where temptation would not beckon me back. “Let me think a minute, it’s dark now, I can’t find it in the dark.” The thought of spending the night alone with him is terrifying, but it buys time for a search team to find me. Vic would have alerted the police in Old Forge, they must be looking for me. Maybe even brought in law
enforcement from surrounding towns, Vic will be relentless in his search. And the children were arriving today, I feel disheartened to know how worried they must be, yet the thought of my loved ones looking for me is comforting. I have to be strong, and survive the night.
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