by Ronica Black
And now she was seeing Veronica.
Kennedy watched as Marion shook her head and wiped her tears.
What a mess.
Allen snapped his cell phone shut.
“We got her. Williams.”
Kennedy nearly jumped.
“Where?”
“Her father owned a home about thirty miles east of here. He’s dead but the house still stands.”
“How did we find the house?”
“We checked her mail at the apartment complex. A letter came in regard to the house. We ran the address, and boom. Howard Williams. Daughter Ashley.”
“And there’s movement on the house?”
“We’re not sure. Agents haven’t arrived yet.”
Kennedy moved with him, quickly jogging to his vehicle. Once inside he started the car and peeled out of the gravel drive. They were on their way in a flash and Kennedy hoped they wouldn’t be too late. She knew Williams was highly unstable and prone to extreme violence. She’d shot to kill Shawn and most likely had killed Sloan as well. She gripped the armrest as Allen sped down the highway.
He had his phone glued to his ear, calling for backup. He asked that all responding units wait before entering. He wanted to be there.
She imagined Veronica, tied up, beaten, or worse. She imagined Ashley Williams in a hooded mask, just like she’d worn to break into Keri’s. She imagined her holding a knife to Veronica’s throat.
She prayed.
Please let us get there in time.
She’d seen far too much death for one lifetime.
Allen slowed as they neared the address. Like the home of Marion Grace, the Williams house was far back from the road, nestled near the woods. They approached slowly, through the grass that had grown over a dirt driveway. They parked before the house came into view and motioned other arriving agents to do the same. Four agents were already there, running along the tree line, weapons drawn.
Three more cars pulled in, along with a SWAT vehicle.
Kennedy strapped into a bulletproof vest and tried to breathe deeply. Hot adrenaline spilled into her blood, accelerating her heart and mind. She pulled out her weapon and made sure it was loaded and ready, the safety off. She looked to Allen, who stood looking a lot like her, vest on, weapon ready. Rain speckled his graying hair and forehead. She gave him a nod and they motioned for the SWAT team to move ahead of them.
The small team descended on the house. The yard was overgrown with weeds and trees. A red brick base led up to worn steps and a small porch. The posts were red brick as well. Four windows stared out at them, all of them covered by some sort of blind. One window, the front left, had a crack in it. Many more cracks veined throughout the front of the house, the pale green paint old and peeling.
Kennedy crept quickly, slightly bent, holding her gun in both hands, pointed toward the ground. She hurried up the overgrown drive and noted no vehicle. A milk crate of old Coca-Cola cans sat nudged up against the porch, most of them rusted.
The SWAT team spread out, three men going up the porch steps and three men rounding to contain the perimeter. They shouldered against the wall and gave hand signals.
They called out. “FBI. Open the door.”
Kennedy’s heart thumped. Come on, come on. Be here.
The SWAT team called out again but there was no answer.
They gave more hand signals and then they kicked open the door.
Kennedy and Allen followed up the porch. They waited as the SWAT team searched and called out from inside.
“Clear.”
Twenty seconds later.
“Clear.”
“All clear.”
“Clear.”
Two minutes later a SWAT member poked his head out. “We’re clear.”
Kennedy lowered her weapon and walked inside. Allen followed, along with the other agents. The floor creaked and the house smelled musty and sour. It crawled to the back of her throat and stayed there. She wanted to gag. Obscured light filtered in. The SWAT team moved about with powerful flashlights.
Someone began opening blinds. It didn’t help much.
“Kennedy, look at this,” Allen said, having switched on his own Maglite.
The walls were covered in papers. Pages. She stepped closer. Bible pages.
Something in her gut turned. She started to sweat.
Allen shone his light around the room. Each wall was covered, from the floor up. And then the beam hit the ceiling. More pages. Completely covered with them. It was as if the room were wallpapered in Bible pages, like some sort of religious papier mâché. The beam fell above the worn couch. Two large velvet paintings of Christ hung: one was Christ on the cross, the other Christ in prayer. Both were surrounded by pages.
A roach scurried across the floor. Cobwebs glinted in the hazy light. Dust mushroomed into the air as Allen tried to turn on a lamp. She tried a wall switch. Nothing. There was no electricity.
Another agent called from the kitchen. She stood pointing at the table. There were smudge marks in the dust and an open bag of bread with peanut butter. Somebody had been there recently.
“We’ll put a watch on the house,” Allen said.
Kennedy looked at a SWAT member. “Is there a basement?”
He shook his head. “Just the three rooms.”
“Are you sure?”
“If there is, there’s no door.”
She walked to the kitchen window and stared out into the backyard. What had once been a good-sized garden was now dead and overgrown. But a small shed stood out back. More SWAT guys moved in and out of it.
“What’s out there?”
He followed her line of sight.
“Canned vegetables. Cases of them.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. A chair.”
“A chair?”
He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Covered in duct tape.”
*
Veronica drifted in and out of consciousness. The smell of piss was old yet strong, the light dim yet piercing. She stared up at herself. Photos. Some of them over ten years old.
Where was she?
A house. An old house.
Why? Her head swam as she struggled for answers.
A woman. A woman had taken her.
Why?
To hold captive. To… She saw that her legs were bare, her jeans on the floor. She remembered the woman’s touch, the way she tried to kiss her, the way she smelled…like Veronica’s signature perfume. The perfume she’d never cared for. Now the lingering scent of it made her want to vomit.
Struggling for breath, she rolled off the bed and then struggled to stand. Her face throbbed; her nose was surely busted. Pain shot throughout her head and blood oozed down the back of her throat. Because of her gag, she was forced to swallow it—hot, thick, and metallic, choking her.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.
The air was stuffy and the gag was too tight. The room spun.
Help. Help.
She slammed her shoulder into the door. It gave a little. She tried again. It didn’t budge.
She struggled with her binds. Her wrists were taped together. She looked around the small room, searching. Her gaze fell on the bucket. It was large and plastic, like a paint bucket. She focused in on the rim. It was worn and tattered. Staggering, she went to it, and then brought it to the bed and sat down. Legs straddling the bucket, she held it between her ankles and rubbed her bound wrists against the worn rim.
As some of the tape began to give, a dark tunnel threatened her vision.
*
Kennedy walked the Williams property, refusing to leave. They’d searched the house high and low and found nothing leading them to Veronica. They had no other leads, but she just knew they were missing something.
“Tell me again about Howard Williams,” she called out to Allen, who was walking a few yards away.
“He died two years ago. Heart attack. He was driving his big rig when it happened. Lucky he
didn’t kill somebody.”
“And what about Ashley?”
“Nothing on her, really. One of the neighbors remembers seeing her in the summertime, working in the garden. She said she thought them strange, though.”
“How’s that?”
“She said the girl was always outside without her shirt on. But once she got a little older and she started to develop, she was covered completely. She said she thought she was even wrapped to make herself smaller.”
“In the summer?”
“Yes.”
Another haunting rush of familiarity came. Allen continued.
“But other than that, no one really saw her. And they only saw him when he was leaving in his rig.”
“What about her mother?”
Allen shook his head. “Nothing. No one knows who she is. We can’t locate a birth certificate.”
“Strange. You think Williams was an alias?”
“We’re checking. But I don’t think so. His family has owned this house for years.”
“Why would he keep his daughter out of school? Did he home school her?”
“That’s what he claimed. On a medical form. She broke her arm a few years back and he took her to the emergency room.”
“Something’s not right.” She stared at the ground, willing clues to emerge from the earth. “What aren’t we seeing?”
Allen looked up into the gently leaking sky. “I don’t know. Williams was a bit odd, obsessed with religion, a bit of a recluse, kept his daughter home, away from the outside world. Even when he worked, he was shelled away from the world.”
“But why? I guess that’s the question.”
They headed back into the small shed behind the house. Cases of jarred vegetables lined the walls.
“He liked to garden.”
“Yes, he did.” Allen held one up. “Wonder if they’re still good.”
She looked around. The cases were stacked to the roofline on three walls.
The chair was sitting in the center all on its own, as if it were waiting for them. Kennedy knelt to examine it. Her heart slammed behind her ribs as she focused on the loosely hanging duct tape that wrapped around the arms and the top and bottom of the legs. The back was also covered. She examined the back of the tape, touching it with a pen as Allen shined the flashlight.
“It’s old,” she said. “Looks like it’s no longer sticky.”
“Check out the legs, the bottoms.”
A square of metal had been welded to the bottom of each leg. The squares each contained one hole.
Allen knelt along side her. “This chair was fastened to something.”
“There weren’t any marks in the house.”
“No.”
Kennedy rose. The hair stood up on her skin. “Where, then?”
They emerged from the shed and Kennedy winced as the rain once again hit her skin. It no longer felt cool and penetrating. Now it was hot and insistent, telling her again and again that something wasn’t right.
She stared out at the yard, walked the property line, stepped farther into the woods. They needed more men. She wanted search and rescue, dogs, the works.
Something wasn’t right.
“She left that bread and peanut butter,” she said to Allen, walking through the trees. “She’s coming back. She was planning on coming back.”
“What are you thinking?”
She stopped. “Veronica’s here. She’s hidden.”
“Do we call in SAR or do we sit and wait for her?” He flipped open his phone and dialed.
“We may not have time to waste.” When children were taken in non-family abductions, they were almost always killed within the first few hours. That fact played inside her mind…a lost lullaby…singing to her now…why?
“Veronica’s not a child.” She said this aloud and Allen covered the phone.
“Kennedy?”
She stared through the woods, scanned the ground. Something red stuck out from beneath the brush. Bending, she retrieved her pen and pushed at the leaves and vine. A toy car was buried halfway in the ground, its back end sticking up. The toy was old and nearly faded. Her heart skipped.
And then she heard it. A far off-cry. Almost like an animal’s moan.
“Kennedy—”
“Shh.” She stood and silenced him with her hand. The noise came again, this time stronger. A cry. A plea.
Help.
She took off through the woods, heart pounding blood in her ears.
“Help!”
It was muffled but growing stronger. She ran harder. It was coming from the back woods. She heard it again and again. She slammed to the right, nearly tripped on a vine. She drew her weapon and slowed. She scanned left and right. The cry was coming from right in front of her.
But there was nothing there.
She blinked a few times and wiped the rain from her face.
The cry came again and she inched closer. Allen caught up to her from behind.
“I can’t find her,” Kennedy said. “She’s here, but I can’t find her.” It was her nightmare. In the flesh. She couldn’t get to her. Not in time.
“Allen, help me find her.”
“I’m here.” He crept alongside her, gun ready. Several of the other lingering agents came rushing up as well.
Kennedy blinked and tried to focus. She was worried about an ambush, a trap of some sort. But they had no choice. They had to find Veronica.
One of the SWAT team jogged ahead. He held up a fist and Kennedy and the others stopped.
“Get down,” he whispered.
They dropped to the ground. More SWAT members bled in from the trees, silent ninjas in black gear. They approached what looked like an old pipe sticking up from the ground. In the thickening silence Kennedy could hear a stream nearby. A trickle in the falling rain.
The cry came again.
Her heart leapt. It was Veronica.
The SWAT guys surrounded it. Then they fanned out, weapons aimed at the ground. The leader looked up suddenly. They had something. He held them at bay as two of his men cleared away some loose brush.
Then they lifted a door. An old, worn wooden door. They tossed it aside, switched on the lights attached to their weapons, and descended. Kennedy waited in the brush, pine needles poking the flesh of her arms. The sky growled overhead, promising more rain.
She tried to steady her breathing as she prayed. And then, after what felt like an eternity, she saw the black helmet of a SWAT member. Then another. Two ran up and out, weapons by their side.
“We got her.” He smiled, but only briefly.
Kennedy jumped up.
“She needs a medic,” he said.
“Can I go down?”
“I’m not sure how safe that tunnel is. It’s tight.”
Kennedy sprinted for the hole, unwilling to let him finish. Allen tried to get her attention but she wouldn’t be stopped. She stood at the mouth and paused. There was only a small hill of dirt, no steps. She pocketed her weapon and braced herself on the roots and dirt of the thick earth. Then she stumbled down. Allen followed.
He switched on his Maglite.
“Smells like shit,” he said.
They had to bend to walk through the tunnel. She’d never been claustrophobic before, but the dirt walls were dark and stifling. Her lungs screamed for air. Her legs screamed for her to turn around. But she kept going. Had to keep going.
“This led back toward the house,” Allen said. “A fucking underground passage.”
Kennedy moved as quick as she could. She coughed from the lack of fresh air, then gagged as the tunnel opened up into a basement. She straightened and sucked in stale, horrible-smelling air.
Allen knelt and caught his breath.
Three SWAT members were huddled around a figure. In the beams of light Kennedy saw bare, dirty legs. Then she saw a dirty sweater and filthy hands. Loose strands of duct tape hung from reddened, chafed wrists.
“Kennedy.” The voice was ragged and tire
d.
The figure stepped forward. Veronica’s face was contorted in pain and covered in blood and bruises. Her body trembled and her eyes welled with tears. She tried to walk but nearly fell.
Kennedy caught her.
“She’s close to shock,” Kennedy said. “We’ve got to get her up.”
“No,” Veronica said, nearly hoarse. “Kennedy.”
“What is it?”
She swallowed and grabbed at her throat. She fought for breath.
“She’s gone after Shawn.”
*
Scarsdale, New York
Shawn smiled at the girls as they jumped into the hotel pool. “Very good!” She clapped, but her heart wasn’t in it.
The indoor pool was heated and they had the place to themselves. Keri sat next to her holding the baby, and her security flanked the pool, looking bored.
“The waiting is killing me,” she said. “I should be doing something.”
“I know. I feel terrible,” Keri said. “But they said for you to stay here. You’re safer here.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Veronica. God, I can’t imagine what must be happening to her. I feel sick.”
She stood. The air was hot and smelled strongly of chlorine. Her head spun.
“I just can’t sit here.”
Keri looked at her with sympathy. “What else can you do?”
“I don’t know. Make phone calls. Go out searching.”
“Who would you call?”
Shawn thought. “The press?”
“I wouldn’t. I would wait for the FBI to do their best first. The media will obsess and the public would be frantic. The suspect might never show her face again.”
Shawn steadied herself on the back of the lounge chair. “I can’t just sit in here. I’m going nuts.”
“Go get some air. Clear your head. I’m sure Kennedy will call with news soon.”
“Mommy, where you going?” Rory asked in the middle of a frenzied dog paddle.
“I’m just going to the restroom.” She smiled. Rory returned it. She hadn’t told the girls. No sense scaring them. They wouldn’t understand anyway. Even she didn’t understand.
She passed one of the Boudreaux security. He walked with her to the door.