by Sylvia Nobel
“Oficina del doctor,” Rosa whispered, knocking lightly on the door before pushing it open.
I followed her into the room, my heart hammering in my ears like a kettle drum. My feet sank into plush ruby-colored carpeting as I surveyed the room, taking in a series of tall bookcases and stylish overstuffed furniture. A glance to my left revealed a connecting bedroom and to my right, at the furthest corner of the rectangular shaped room, I spotted Dr. Price seated at an impressive mahogany desk.
“Who’s that with you, Rosa?” he asked in a guarded tone. His gaze swept over me, lingering for long seconds. I tensed. What an idiot I was. It hadn’t occurred to me to give myself a name.
I met the panic in Rosa’s eyes. “Her name is…Angelica. I am…I will be…away next week. So…I am having to train her for me,” she finished lamely. For being put on the spot, her story was quite good. I felt a rush of gratitude.
Dr. Price rose and took several faltering steps. The light from the chandelier caught the reflection from the cut glass liquor decanter perched on the corner of his desk. He pointed to a small table nestled between two upholstered chairs. “Set the tray over there,” he directed me, his voice slurring.
Careful not to react, I kept my face bland and looked at the floor as I passed him, suddenly doubting myself. He looked so damned authentic; tall, gray haired, distinguished. But not old, I thought setting the tray down. Not old. And not sick, as Thena Rodenborn had described. As far as I was concerned my question was answered, but my elation was tempered by apprehension.
It would be best to get out of here now, continue my exploration of the place, gathering evidence, and then lay low until tomorrow.
“Angelica,” Dr. Price purred. “You have beautiful hair. I’d like it very much if you’d bring a cup of coffee to my desk.”
Pretending not to hear, I busied myself arranging the dishes on the little table.
“What’s the matter? Are you deaf?” he challenged. It was an effort not to turn around while Rosa hastily explained my condition. “But, she is a good worker. And, she can read instructions,” she added helpfully. I had to stop myself from throwing an admiring glance at her. She was really getting into the part and earning her five hundred dollars.
“So she can’t speak or hear,” he muttered. I heard his approach and my skin tingled knowing he was close behind me. Casually, he reached around my hand and tapped the cream pitcher. The white liquid poured onto the rug.
“How careless of me.” His voice was smooth as velvet. What the hell was he up to? I thought, kneeling to sop the cream with one of the cloth napkins.
“I will get the bucket to clean it,” Rosa said quickly. “No. Let her do it. You go and get me some more cream. And have Señora Morales go to the cellar and get me more brandy.”
I turned my head ever so slightly in Rosa’s direction. The look of fear in her eyes made me even more uneasy.
“Please, Dr. Price,” she implored. “I will clean it. Angelica can get what you need.”
“Do as you’re told! And close the door behind you.” It was hard to breathe normally as I returned my concentration to the spill.
“Angelica, you’re a very pretty girl,” he said softly. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “And you look so very, very young.” Every muscle in my body strained as I fought for control.
When his hand started to trail down my back, remnants of Mike Scott’s conversation filtered through my mind. All the patients molested by Charles Sheffield were adolescents.
I warned myself to stay calm, or my sleuthing would end right here. Trying to keep my face hidden behind the long black hair, I pushed his hands away, got up and headed for the door.
My hopes of escape vanished when I felt his arms close around my waist. I wouldn’t have thought a man as apparently drunk as he seemed could move that fast.
He clapped a hand over my mouth and dragged me across the room toward his bedroom. I struggled against him as he kicked the door shut and shoved me toward the bed. The look of unbridled lust in his glazed eyes conveyed his wretched plans for me. His arms locked around me and I shook my head violently, fighting to keep his lips away from mine. “Oh, now, don’t be that way,” he said, fumbling for the zipper on my jeans.
“Take your hands off me, you filthy bastard!” The words exploded from my lips before I could stop them. He released his hold slightly, drawing back with disbelief.
“What’s going on here? I thought you couldn’t talk? Why you little fake!” A crazed smile crossed his face and he lunged for me again.
I screamed, “You’re the fake, you stinking child molester!” He grabbed my wrists, so I tried to knee him in the groin. If he hadn’t been so drunk he’d have realized at that point I wasn’t who I claimed to be, but his actions seemed driven by a demonic hunger.
I ducked out of his grasp and almost made it to the door when he grabbed my hair. The wig slipped off and he shouted, “What the hell is this?” His arms closed around me again as I grappled for the doorknob.
He yanked me backward and wrestled me to the floor. Straddling me, he pinned my arms firmly and stared, his eyes widening with recognition. “Well, I’ll be...”
The door opened behind him. I prayed it was Rosa, but before I could call out for help, the words locked in my throat. Claudia Phillips stood in the doorway, a look of rage on her face.
“Charles! You make me sick,” she seethed. “Must you diddle the hired help? I would think you’d get enough to quench your obscene appetites.”
“My dear sister, this one, I think you’ll agree, is a little different.” He rose to his feet, grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me to a sitting position.
The look on her face when she saw me was worth remembering. “You!” Her violet eyes flashed fire. “How did she get here?” she demanded, crossing to where I sat.
“I’m not positive, but I think she came in with Rosa,” came his reply.
Concern for Rosa almost overruled my own fear. As calmly as possible, I said, “She had nothing to do with this. You two might as well pack it in, because I know what you’ve been up to out here. My editor knows too.”
Claudia’s face blanched. She turned to her brother and cuffed his head. “You idiot! If you hadn’t let that mangy girl escape she wouldn’t be here. I’m sick to death of cleaning up after you.”
“But, Sissy…” Charles Sheffield whimpered like a whipped dog. “What are we going to do now?”
Her mouth twisted and she returned her deadly stare to me. “Rosa will be dealt with just as the other little snitch was. As for this one…” she landed several vicious and painful kicks in my side. “I should have never let him talk me out of my original plan for you. And, I should have had Roy finish you off that night in the darkroom.” The toe of her pointed shoe connected with my forehead and sent me reeling backward. Through a mist of pain, I heard their frantic whispering.
They had moved a few feet away from me, so I eyed the door with hope. A groan escaped my lips as I struggled to my knees. It felt like she’d broken some ribs and a few drops of blood spattered on the carpet from my head wound.
“Get Raoul up here,” she snarled. “Then lock her in the storage room until I figure out exactly what I’m going to do with her.”
“We have to be careful,” Charles said in a strained voice. “You remember what he told us. A second dead reporter’s gonna tip everybody off for sure.”
I wondered who he was as I was roughly hauled to my feet. Were they talking about Roy? Held tightly from behind by Charles, I faced Claudia’s deadly-cold eyes. “I’ve worked too hard to let you destroy everything,” she seethed. “So now, you’re going to have to vanish, Ms. O’Dell. Vanish into thin air, just like our nosy friend Dexter.” Her maniacal laugher sent an icy chill down my spine.
She marched into the study. “Bring her in here.” Charles gave me a hard shove across the room, then threw me into a chair. “Don’t move!” he commanded, then crossed to the desk and grabbed the phone.
“Shut up!” Claudia smacked my face with such force, my ears rang. For someone so thin and wiry, she had incredible strength. Eyes watering, I lunged for her, but only succeeded in tearing the sleeve from her blouse.
“You bitch!” she screamed just as the office door banged open. A brawny man bearing a rifle rushed in, seized my arm and jammed the barrel into my face. “You come with me, ¿sí?” he said with a fiendish grin.
Charles grabbed my other arm. “You’d better come along quietly,” he warned ominously, “or you may not even make it downstairs.” He flashed a smile over his shoulder to Claudia. “We can’t have her upsetting the patients, now can we?”
“Get her out of here!” Claudia spat, punching numbers on the phone. My legs felt like rubber bands. I half walked and was half carried down the stairs, through the maze of hallways back to the kitchen area, and then guided down a set of worn stone steps into a musty, damp smelling room.
They led me across a cobweb-infested basement, down another short flight of steps, and stopped before a formidable-looking wooden door. “Let me go!” I fought with every ounce of strength I could muster. At the clatter of a key in a lock, I screamed, “Rosa! Wherever you are, get the hell out of here!”
“Shut her up!” Charles wailed. Raoul shouldered the door open and gave me a ferocious shove that sent me sprawling into darkness.
34
I landed with a thud on a dirt floor. The room was every bit as black as a darkroom. Not a speck of light filtered in from anywhere, even under the door. It was surprisingly cool too. Wincing from the pain in my ribs and head, I cautiously pushed to my knees.
My hand flew to my back pocket. Thank heavens, they hadn’t discovered the knife. And double thanks, they hadn’t found the flashlight tied to the ribbon around my neck hidden in my bra. I fished it out and directed the narrow beam of light around my prison.
Claudia had referred to it as a storage room, but it more resembled a dungeon. An ancient refrigerator leaned against the far wall, along with a few cardboard boxes and a pile of lumber. The rock walls were smooth as cobblestones.
There was absolutely no doubt that Claudia planned to kill me. She had probably been calling Roy as I was being dragged from the study. I didn’t even want to imagine what they would do to me.
I rose to my feet and turned my light toward the door. There wasn’t much time. I had to find a way out before the batteries ran down.
The last thing I remembered was the sound of a bolt scraping into place. A careful examination of the thick wooden door made my spirits plummet. There appeared to be neither latch nor knob, nothing to grab onto. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this room wasn’t really used for storage. Had John Dexter been imprisoned here before he’d been murdered?
I clicked off the flashlight. Try as I could, I couldn’t remember how far we’d come from the steps that led to the kitchen. If I shouted and pounded and kicked the door, would someone hear me? It was worth a shot.
“Help! Can anybody hear me? Help!”
Sometime later, I turned my back and slid into a weary heap, my voice hoarse, my palms raw and full of splinters. How much time had passed? What were they waiting for? A flash of light on my watch produced another disappointment. During one of my violent encounters, the hour hand had broken off. Great. Now I couldn’t even count the last hours of my life. For awhile, I just sat and cried. The sounds of my own sobs finally stopped me. What good would this do? I needed to think. Giving into panic was no solution.
Summoning new-found courage, I snapped the light back on and rubbed the sleeve of my shirt across my eyes. Perhaps there was something in here I could use as a weapon against them when they returned.
The inside of the dented refrigerator produced a musty smell. Nothing of interest there. Next, I examined the contents of the cardboard boxes. They were full of empty mason jars, old newspapers, broken dishes and roaches! The biggest, blackest one I’d ever seen scurried up my sleeve. Lunging backward, I screamed and swiped at it with the flashlight until I heard it drop to the floor.
The frantic movements made me dizzy with pain. Would it crawl up my leg now? I clutched my rib cage, and backed up against the wall, giving in to a fit of hysterical laughter. At least I wasn’t alone, I thought incoherently, sliding to the floor. There were probably oodles of roaches and spiders to keep me company.
Hours must have passed in the total blackness as I sat huddled in a corner trying to figure out how I was going to escape. Why, oh, why hadn’t I confided in Tugg? By the time Yolanda delivered my letter, it would be too late. The memory of Charles Sheffield’s hands roaming over my body made me shiver in disgust. By Claudia’s remark, I gathered he had the freedom to do whatever he wished with the girls before their final destination. How sick! How revolting. What would happen to me when Roy finally got here? Would Charles be allowed to complete his gruesome plan for me?
Morbid thoughts whirled in my head like dust devils, carrying me to sleep. When I awoke I was lying flat on the floor. Everything came flooding back. Oddly, I felt clear-headed and calm. I switched on my precious little flashlight and played it over the ceiling. People never look up, I thought incongruously.
With no feeling of fear, I watched one of the shiny black roaches crawl across the ceiling and disappear into a hole above the refrigerator. A moment later it reappeared, and then a second one. Idly, I followed their progress down the far wall. The roaches were the lucky ones. They could get in and out of this place at will.
Wait a minute! I sat up and shot the beam back toward the ceiling. Where were they coming from?
From the woodpile, I pulled out a two by four and then used my knife to dig a small hole in the floor where I inserted the flashlight. I pounded the wood against the ceiling, listening closely. There was a definite hollow sound in a small area above the refrigerator.
My tennis shoes squeaked against the smooth metal as I scrambled on top of it. Desperately, I tried to remember the details of what Thena Rodenborn had told me about the old monastery. There were a series of “safe rooms,” she’d said, for the monks to hide. Also, she had mentioned a series of escape tunnels. Had I discovered the entrance to one of them? It was almost too much to hope for.
“Oh, please, please,” I whispered, using the knife blade to scrape away layers of dirt. A crevice appeared, and the more I scraped, the clearer the outline became. There was a trapdoor directly above my head. I pushed hard, straining every muscle.
After several minutes, I sat down, gasping for breath. It wouldn’t budge. How long had it been since someone opened it? A hundred years?
There had to be a way. I needed something as a lever, something I could slip into the crack and jack the door open far enough for me to insert one of the two by fours. The five slender pieces of wood I chose, cracked instantly.
“Damn!” Something much more solid was needed. I jumped down and searched through the boxes. Nothing. Even in the cool temperature, I could feel the nervous sweat beading on my forehead. Tears of frustration blurred my eyes. I was doomed. There was nothing here.
I sat down on the floor beside the flashlight. The beam was definitely getting weaker. This was not a job I could do in darkness. Think. Think of something!
My head ached again. Mingled with thoughts of escape were strong sensations of hunger and thirst. Visions of the freshly-baked cookies on the tray in Charles Sheffield’s study tortured me.
With a weary sigh, I rose and began my hunt again. When I got to the refrigerator, I tugged open the door and stared dully at empty shelves. A sudden thought emerged from my foggy brain. The shelves!
“Good old steel.” I laughed aloud, resuming my perch on top of the old icebox. The shelf slipped easily into the crevice. Pushing down, I heard the welcome cr
eak of protest from the old timber. Debris rained on my head as I strained against the wood. My God, the thing was heavy. I pushed again with all my strength, and finally, it moved upward enough for me to grab the board I’d balanced against the wall. I shoved it into the space, safely propping the door open. There was a rush of cool, damp air.
Calling on strength I didn’t think I possessed, I shoved the trapdoor up and back, my sense of triumph mingling with the knifelike pain in my ribs.
After retrieving the flashlight and using my shirt sleeve to dust the debris from the top of the refrigerator, I hauled myself up through the hole and lay on my back until the pain subsided. Smart guys, those monks. I would bet money that Claudia and Company didn’t know about the trapdoor. And they must not find out. I’d have to lower it again.
I thought it was strange that there was no handle or latch attached to the top to pull it up, so I rested it on the metal shelf. It left just enough room for me to pry it open with my fingers.
Turning, I shined the light around. Just as I thought. Openings high enough to crawl through yawned from opposite directions. For a few seconds, I toyed with the wild notion of venturing into one of the tunnels and just as quickly dismissed it. The ever-weakening beam of my flashlight rendered that sheer folly. I clicked it off to save what little energy was left and lay in the dark, so hungry, thirsty and exhausted, I couldn’t even muster up a feeling of panic about my seemingly hopeless situation.
I finally decided that I’d rather die peacefully in the dark than face the horror of what lay ahead of me in the room below. On that dismal thought I fell into a deep sleep.
35
I’m not sure how long I’d been asleep when I heard the screaming. I jerked awake. A slit of gray light seeped through the crack.
“You bungling fool!” Claudia’s shrill voice turned my spine into a column of ice. “How could you do something so stupid? Do you have any idea what is going to happen to us if she has escaped? I could kill you!”