Morris glanced in the rearview. Behind the mesh barrier, Astrid wept in silence, her head jiggling with the bumps. Next to her, Jarrell’s pulverized face lolled against the seatback, his good eye still open, aware. Good.
He didn’t like what he had to do to that boy. Not one bit. But somebody had to have enough guts to seize the day. Those investors were for real. Men so rich they probably wiped their butts with C-notes—or yen. Shots like this didn’t come but once in a lifetime. It was time to break this town’s habit of losing. A few more loose ends to tie off, and he’d be standing on the threshold where his old life would end and a whole new world would begin. You can pull this off.
Without slowing, Morris hard-righted the vehicle onto a faint track that led through the woods. The Tahoe bucked and squeaked. Saplings disappeared under the front of the vehicle and made a rasping racket below the floorboard.
After a short distance they emerged from the woods and plowed into a wide expanse of sugary sand. Ahead, rows of whitecaps reached toward the overcast sky, curling and crashing in rapid succession. Morris veered left, crossing over a crackle of shells onto the flatter, more substantial sand that lay below the mean high tide line.
The Tahoe rolled smooth now, and Morris gunned it toward the north end of the island. He knew the SUV was leaving crisp, pristine tracks in the wet sand, but today nature was on his side. Within a few hours the storm surge would have done its magic and erased all traces of his errand. I swear to God, he thought, the harder I work, the luckier I get.
Ahead, he could already see his destination, rising from the bluff like a black-and-white barber’s pole. Atop the tower, the lighthouse beam swept across a thick deck of clouds.
Morris parked on the sandy drive next to the oil shed, a structure used only for storage since the lighthouse became fully automated in the mid-seventies. He picked up a pair of bolt cutters from the floorboard, then got out and crossed to the door at the base of the tower. He gripped the handles through rawhide gloves and squeezed. The padlock snapped in two and fell to the ground. He flipped the hasp and swung open the planked door. Overhead, the lighthouse motor hummed and resonated, sending its vibrations down the concrete walls.
He took the Remington out of the liftgate and pressed a button on his key fob to pop the Tahoe’s power locks. He opened the door and stepped back a safe distance.
“Come on out, Jarrell.”
Morris waited patiently. A windblown gust of sand sprayed over the roof, but little else happened. “Out.”
Jarrell climbed out and leaned against the car in his hoodie, head drooping. Astrid worked her way across the seat toward the open door and slid a plump leg onto the running board.
“Not you. Just the boy. Stand over there by the shed, Jarrell.”
But Astrid already had her head and shoulders out of the door, jawing up a blue streak. “Get back in the car, Jarrell!” she said. “Don’t do anything he tells you to do. Just sit down. Don’t cooperate.”
Morris planted the rifle butt in the center of Astrid’s sternum and shoved. She toppled backward, legs flailing. She kicked at the door and screamed. One of her purple shoes dropped to the ground. Morris wrangled her feet through the door and pushed it shut with his belly. He wheeled around just in time to see the boy lunging at him. Morris pointed the barrel of the Remington at Jarrell’s forehead and he stopped in his tracks.
“Let my muther go,” Jarrell said, mouthing through marbles. “She don’t have anyfing to do wiff thish. I’ll do anyfing you want. Jush leaf her alone.”
Morris pressed another button on his key fob and the Tahoe emitted a double electronic ping, indicating that the prisoner compartment was secure. “That’s right, your mother doesn’t have anything to do with it. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s just take care of business. Do like I ask. Go over there.”
Morris motioned with the barrel of the Remington toward the lighthouse door. Jarrell shambled partway across the sandy drive and sat down. He plopped into the mud, head lowered.
“Come on, get inside there. Are you going to do like I ask, or do I need to get your mother involved?”
Jarrell stared at the ground, looking dazed. “Whaf are you gonna do?”
“This is where you’re going to stay until this storm is over. I need you to get inside that tower.”
Jarrell stood back up and stepped through the doorway, swaying, and looked at the base of the iron-mesh stairway.
Morris pressed the point of the barrel between Jarrell’s shoulder blades. “Go on, start climbing. One hundred seventy-eight steps. You’re young. You can make it.”
Jarrell shuffled forward and began to climb the winding stairs. Morris followed. “All the way up to the service room.” The steel structure creaked under their combined weight, and their footfalls echoed against the cement walls.
Halfway up, Morris paused to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. The air inside the tower was humid, stifling. Through a small rectangular window, he saw the ocean churning, like a silent movie. Jarrell kept moving.
“Hold it.”
Jarrell slumped against the cement wall, head lolling. Morris wondered if the kid might pass out before they made it to the top. Not good. He sure as hell couldn’t carry him. Better to keep moving.
Oooommmm. Overhead, the motorized light assembly groaned on its steel gears.
“All right, let’s move on.”
Jarrell rolled against the wall and mumbled something about his mother. Morris jabbed the rifle barrel into his back, and that got him moving again.
At the top of the stairway they reached a mesh platform, where a short steel ladder led through a hole in the ceiling to the service room. Morris knew he needed to be careful here. This would be the most difficult part of his errand. Stay with the plan.
“All right, stand up straight. I’m going to open one of your handcuffs now.” Morris shouted over the hum of the lighthouse motor. He could hear himself panting. “Soon as I do, I want you to move your hands directly to the ladder rails. I’ve got my finger on this trigger. If you so much as flinch in a way I don’t expect…I’ll blow you in half. Understand?”
Jarrell’s head wobbled up and down.
“Now turn around toward the ladder.”
Morris held the butt of the rifle under his slippery armpit. Sweat streamed into his eyes, stinging, as he fumbled with the keys. Everything was covered with sweat. Damn, he couldn’t wait to get some fresh air.
He tried to work the key into the handcuff lock with his trembling, gloved hand. Jarrell shifted his weight, and the keys dropped. They caught on the mesh floor, dangling.
“Dammit! I’m warning you, boy.” He jabbed the barrel of the rifle into Jarrell’s back. Jarrell’s face smashed against the ladder and he groaned. “Hold still.”
Morris held Jarrell pinned against the ladder. The keys dangled from the floor grate, hanging there only because of the width and angle of the key fob. Morris used his teeth to remove the glove from his left hand. Then he reached down gingerly, strained to grasp the keys while keeping pressure on Jarrell’s back. His gut blocked the way, but he managed to hook a finger through the key ring and pull it to safety.
That was a close one, Morris. Going to be more careful now.
He took off his other glove—fingerprints be damned—and got the left handcuff open. He snapped it onto the ladder rail.
“Okay. Up you go, nice and slow.”
Jarrell climbed through the hatch, sliding the cuff along the rail as he went. When he reached the top, he dropped to a sitting position on the circular platform at the base of the light. The air in the enclosure was suffocating.
Morris climbed up beside him, noticing that Jarrell was semiconscious now. Morris swung open the metal door that led to the balcony. Wind gushed in violently, carrying a refreshing shower of raindrops.
Morris felt a little better now, more in control. Things would work out. They always did. Why did he let himself get nervous?
He got to Jarrell and
unlocked the cuff that was latched on to the rail, then snapped it back onto Jarrell’s wrist, which hung limp at his side.
“Okay, out you go. Let’s get some fresh air.”
Jarrell leaned, swayed, and toppled, his face smashing against the mesh floor.
The light circled slowly, humming, painting him white, then gray again.
“Get up, now. You’ve made it this far.”
Morris kicked at the boy’s leg. Jarrell was inert, unflinching. Heaving the boy over the rail, without help, wasn’t exactly what he had planned, but it was doable. Morris took a step toward the balcony door and looked out at the gray cloud deck, calculating how far he would have to drag the kid.
He looked out toward the iron balcony, toward a charcoal canopy of clouds. Something shifted in his gut. You can do this, Morris. Don’t lose your nerve.
The steel-grate flooring bucked and Morris swiveled, but not fast enough—a glint of steel, then sudden impact. A pain in his stomach, and Morris was down with one knee on the mesh, with Jarrell punching at him with his feet. What the f—
Before Morris could regain his footing, Jarrell was upright, charging into him with his head and knees. Morris stumbled onto his back, and Jarrell threw his full body weight on top of the arm holding the rifle.
Jarrell kicked and thrashed, arms shackled behind, aiming knee kicks into Morris’s groin, trying to do damage. Morris knew from training how to deal with a situation like this. He pulled up his knees to protect his vulnerable regions, then lodged his foot against the wall of the lighthouse and pushed hard, rolling them both over. Morris heaved his body weight on top of Jarrell and straddled him, pressing onto his chest like a load of sandbags. He glanced around for the rifle and saw the wooden stock sticking out from under Jarrell’s shoulder.
Morris worked the rifle free and placed the barrel across Jarrell’s throat. He shifted his body to add weight and control and pressed down.
Jarrell twisted left and right, arms pinned underneath him, slamming his feet against the steel-grate floor. Morris’s weight held the top part of his body immobilized. He applied just enough pressure to block the airflow. Morris glanced at his watch, thought back to his training, so many years ago. How long can a brain survive without oxygen? Five minutes? Six? Don’t overdo it.
A full three minutes passed, eternal minutes, before Jarrell’s kicks began to slow. He grew still for several long seconds, then slammed his leg forcefully against the grate once again. Then the body began to relax. His eyes started to swim. Morris waited a few more seconds before he eased the barrel off the boy’s neck.
Morris lifted the rifle and got up, his legs numb, and looked at the figure lying sprawled on the grate. Jarrell’s mouth was open.
Only seconds now—no time to consider options. He took Jarrell by the armpits and dragged him through the narrow threshold and out into the cool, misty air of the curved balcony. He unlocked the handcuffs, removed them, and returned them to the leather snap on his duty belt. Then he grabbed hold of Jarrell’s belt and muscled the boy, the whole sweaty, slippery bulk of him, up and onto the edge of the railing. The kid hung there for an instant, balanced in space.
One more shove, Morris. One more shove, and you’re done. Just do it.
Jarrell groaned, blinked his eyes. He struggled and twisted, his legs kicked wildly. Then gravity took hold and Jarrell toppled over the railing. His hood caught on a rail knob. The fabric ripped for several inches and Jarrell hung below Morris, kicking the air. The material snapped, and he dropped.
Morris leaned over the railing and saw the boy carom once off the tapered cement wall, then hit the ground with a muffled thump.
Morris panted and gripped the railing, his heart jumping like a jackrabbit. He stared down at the figure crumpled like a rag doll in a crater of mud. You bastard. You really went and did it, didn’t you?
Morris unhooked the ripped swatch of the hoodie from the knob, threw it over the edge. Then, rising above the hum of the lighthouse motor, he noticed another sound. Muffled screams, like a cat crying out, an unearthly wail unlike anything he’d ever heard before.
Astrid. She was going wild down there in the SUV. Morris took a deep breath, steadied himself. At least you won’t have to listen to that for long. He slipped his gloves back on and turned to descend the iron stairway.
Chapter 26
Martha rested her chin on her knees and pushed a strand of ratty hair from her eyes, imagined what waited for her. Warm food. Soup, maybe. Painkillers. A soft, clean place where she could rest for a long time.
She was still filthy from her night in the marsh, a ragged beast covered with ugly pink welts. She didn’t understand why this crisp, starch-clean young police officer was here, why he had taken an interest in her well-being.
Lenny tossed his cigarette butt into a pool of dank water near the curb. That’s ’cause he don’t know what you really are. Ugly beast, killer. He’ll know soon enough.
Tanner’s face was steady, implacable. “Why don’t you talk? Were you in some kind of accident?” Behind him, dark clouds hunched like toadstools. A raindrop landed on the plastic bill of his hat.
Martha knew she mustn’t speak, but maybe her eyes could communicate. She tried to think messages to him. Maybe her eyes could say how much she wanted his help.
The radio on his belt squawked. “Forty-five…come in?”
Tanner stood up and pushed a button on the radio pinned to his shirt. “Ten-sixty. Go ahead.”
“Ambulance en route to River Street.” The female dispatch voice had a faint Southern accent. “We’ve got a ten thirty-one—looter inside Field’s Department store, corner of Fifth and Abercorn. Car sixty-three has arrived and requests backup. Can you report?”
Tanner tucked his chin and pushed a button on the radio. “Is there another car in the area? Please advise.”
“Negative, ten seventy-four.”
“I’d rather not leave this girl here alone. What’s the ETA on the ambulance?”
“Uh…should be there in about five to ten minutes. All other units are busy. Please advise.”
Tanner crouched low and looked at Martha. “I hate to leave you here, but we’re spread pretty thin today. They’ll be here in just a few minutes. You aren’t going to wander off anywhere, are you?” Martha returned his gaze. Don’t leave me.
“It’s all right. You’ll be in good hands.” Tanner stood, spoke into the radio. “I don’t think she’s in any shape to get very far by herself. Subject will be seated on the curb in front of Ambrosia Coffee, Forty-three River Street.”
“Additional description?”
“Wearing what looks like a white dress…hard to tell. No shoes. Looks like she’s been lying in the mud. Brown hair, matted. Maybe homeless, maybe in shock. Tell them to prep for hypoxia, anemia…some minor lacerations.”
“Ten-four.”
Tanner put his face very close to hers and peered straight into her eyes. “Now, you listen here. I’ve got to answer a call, but an ambulance is on its way. They’re going to help you. Do you understand?”
Martha let her eyes speak for her. They said, Don’t leave.
“Don’t be afraid, they’ll take good care of you.”
Stay here with me.
He touched her shoulder tenderly. Even though she was filthy, and he was clean. She wondered how there could be such people in the world, people who were strong, yet caring and gentle.
“Just stay right here. Don’t go anywhere, everything’s going to be all right.”
Tanner turned, scuffed down the sidewalk, and got into the cruiser. The car rumbled down River Street and turned a corner. The roof lights came on and the siren echoed against the buildings, fading.
She was alone in the street again except for Lenny, who sat next to her on the curb, lighting a fresh cigarette.
Sorry about that, Lovie. They leave you every time, don’t they? They have to. If you listened to me, they wouldn’t hurt you so much. I’m the only one you can count on, inn
it?
Martha put her face into her knees.
So what’s the plan?
“I’m going to wait, like he said.”
Lenny stood, brushing flecks of ash off his legs. C’mon, girl, now’s our chance. Let’s do a bunk. That meat wagon is going to take you back to hospital. Weren’t that fun? We said we’d never do that again, didn’t we, Lovie? They’re going to fuck with you in there.
Martha rolled her head back and forth over her arms. She wanted to give up, to relinquish herself. Let others sort out her fate. She just wanted to rest, that was all. But she also knew what Lenny was saying was true.
Get your ass moving, girl. They’ll truss you up like a pig. Stick needles in your ass, your arms, and your face. They’ll cut out pieces of your brain and your soul. They’ll have you forever, end of story.
Martha remembered the last time…how sick she felt.
That was supposed to be a one-time deal, right, Lovie?
Martha could hear a wail in the distance, another siren. This one was different—shrill, piercing. A scream of panic. It was getting closer.
She put her palms against the curb and pushed. She shifted her weight onto her feet. Her vision went black and she leaned over and struggled to keep her balance. When the dusky film began to clear from her eyes she rose up, steadied herself, and limped toward the cobblestone alley.
The alley connected with a narrow street that ran behind the stores and restaurants of River Street. The street slanted down toward the middle, where there was a shallow cement gutter. On one side was a high palisade wall that gave the area an enclosed feeling. Trash cans overflowed, and Dumpsters sat at random angles along the wall. The air smelled of sour milk.
Martha heard the ambulance pull to a stop on the other side of the block, followed by the squawk of radios. Hide, Martha. Vanish. She gripped the edge of a Dumpster and hopped around it and lowered herself to the pavement.
The Girl in the Maze Page 21