by Blake Pierce
Mackenzie dropped to her knees and lightly rapped at the boards. As she did, she thought of the scratch they had seen on Trevor Simms’s head and the discussion about a cage or containment unit of some kind.
Or maybe some sort of crawlspace, Mackenzie thought, looking at the sloppy construction along the bottom of the building. With the sealant and the way it had been painted over, it was almost as if someone was trying to make just the bottom part of the building more secure than the rest.
She knocked harder this time, the sound of her knuckles muted against the painted-over sealant and boards. The sound was flat and yielded nothing.
But she got a response this time—a noise that sent a jolt of electricity through her heart.
It was a strangled scream—a woman, from the sound of it.
Grabbing up the two-by-four, Mackenzie got to her feet and turned to the right, making the decision to kick the door down.
And then she saw the man standing there—just a second too late.
*
She wasn’t sure what he held in his hand but whatever it was, it was rushing at her head, guided by his fist. There was a loud clang as it connected with her face.
A frying pan, she thought dimly as sharp pain embraced the right side of her head. Did he really just hit me with a fry—
For a moment, Mackenzie saw a black curtain fall over her sight as she fell to the ground. She scrambled to get back up but the man was already on her and pinning her to the ground.
His face was familiar. It was the man from the truck. And he was big—indicative of the large hands that were even now wrapping around her throat and squeezing with deadly pressure.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Within just a few seconds, Mackenzie became less worried about being strangled to death and more worried about having her neck broken. The black curtain that had flickered in her sight moments ago had now become dark flares that seemed to explode like fireworks. The face of the man above her was becoming blurry and her lungs were fighting overtime to draw in a breath.
She grasped frantically at the ground, looking for anything that might help her fight back. As she grasped for something, the fingernail on her ring finger bent backwards but the pain was minuscule compared to the horrendous vise grip the man had on her neck. She fought beneath him but not too much; she knew that she’d expel all of her energy by doing so—energy she would need to put as much force behind an attack whenever the right opportunity presented itself.
Her hands still in search of a weapon, she felt the edge of the two-by-four she’d been holding before being attacked. She pulled it to her, gripped it tightly, and then drew up all of the strength remaining in her body. She brought the two-by-four up as hard as she could, blessed that she’d found it with her right hand instead of her much weaker left.
The board caught the man in the side of the head. He seemed more surprised than hurt but that was fine. His grip on her neck eased up and his bewilderment lasted about two seconds—long enough for her to bring the board up again. She did so at an angle this time and it smashed into his cheek and nose. She was pretty sure the cracking noise she’d heard was his nose breaking, not the board.
He tottered over, trying to keep his balance. Mackenzie grabbed his arms and shoved him hard. That threw his balance off and he went sprawling against the side of the building. Mackenzie tried scrambling to her feet but her legs felt like rubber. She was coughing as she drew air in, her neck feeling like it was already swelling from the inside and black dots of pain and panic blinking in and out in front of her eyes.
She hefted herself up with the help of the board and felt a stinging in her palms. She looked down and was dimly aware that there were two crooked and rusty nails sticking out of the wood. They had sliced into the meat of her palm, drawing pin pricks of blood. She switched ends and hobbled over to the man. He was getting slowly to his feet, his hand covering his nose as blood rushed out. Blood was trailing down his face. His eyes looked both hurt and furious.
Before he made it to his feet, Mackenzie took a rushing stride toward him. She brought her right knee up, connecting solidly under his chin. There was a sharp clicking noise as his teeth snapped together. His eyes flickered dreamily as he leaned slowly back and then fell to the ground in a heap.
She was pretty sure she had knocked him out but didn’t want to waste time finding out. Her legs still regaining strength, Mackenzie ran to the concrete steps of the built-on addition. She drew her right leg back and kicked as hard as she could. She missed the doorknob by about three inches, but the cheap door still buckled from the inside. A hinge and substandard lock still held it in place, though. Still coughing to draw air into her sore neck, she reared back and threw her shoulder into it.
The door went sailing inward as it popped off of the hinges. Mackenzie went falling with it, skidding across the floor in an almost comical way along the top of the door. As she scrambled to her feet, she took stock of the place.
She was in a very small central area. An untidy bedroom sat in front of her, about the size of a college dorm room. To her right was a collection of old milk crates filled with magazines and assorted papers. To her left, there was a small door. It was roughly three feet tall and two feet wide. It was made of some sort of metal, much stronger than the meager plywood walls around it. A simple U-shaped handle served as the knob.
The door was locked from the outside by a simple hooking mechanism, but it was a large one—not the small kind that could often be found on screen doors, but the large industrial kind that was used on the tailgates of work trucks. It was hooked into a rugged-looking steel plate on the small door frame.
Realizing that she still had the two-by-four gripped in her hand, she let it drop to the floor. She went to her knees, her hand grasping the large iron hook. It took some strength, but she was able to free it from the latch. She then opened the door, trying her best to prepare herself for what she might see on the other side.
At first, she saw only darkness. But at the very first second, she could feel something stirring inside, shifting around the hot and dusty air that revealed itself when the door was opened. She saw right away that she was looking into a crawlspace. Portions of a badly made wooden floor covered most of it, but there were sections where the dirt floor was also revealed.
Mackenzie peered inside, wetting her tongue and trying to push the word Hello through her aching neck.
That’s when a ghostlike face suddenly seemed to rocket out of the darkness toward her. Of course, as Mackenzie stumbled back in shock, she realized that it was simply a person—a young girl—crawling toward her out of the farthest corners of the darkness.
The girl had a gag around her mouth and a bruise along the left side of her head. Her eyes were glazed and full of fear. She mumbled something through the gag and Mackenzie could tell that the girl was just one slight push away from sliding into utter and uncontrollable panic.
“It’s okay,” Mackenzie said, the words coming out of throat like gravel. “I’m here to help. Can you crawl out of there?”
The girl nodded, her eyes still large and terrified. Mackenzie reached her hand into the darkness for the girl. Their fingers touched and Mackenzie interlocked them.
Something creaked behind her.
She let go of the girl’s fingers and turned. The man was coming at her, launching himself through the broken doorway. He was stumbling a bit, still shaken by the knee to the chin, so he was slow and awkward as he lunged at her. Mackenzie took advantage of this, thinking she’d have just enough time to counterattack.
She grabbed the two-by-four and came up to her knees. She gripped the bottom of it, the two rusted nails sticking out of the top. She brought it around at a hard upward angle. This time, the wood did break when it slammed into the side of his face. A small explosion of wood shards sprinkled down into her face as she fell back against the wall with the force of her swing.
The man’s response was instant. He went to the ground, howling i
n pain. His feet kicked out blindly, either in a weak attempt at retaliation or in response to the pain, Mackenzie wasn’t sure. She saw that a chunk of wood about six inches long was attached along the side of his jaw, held in place by the nails having been driven through his flesh.
Mackenzie quickly turned to the opened door to the crawlspace and reached back out for the girl. She was hesitant at first but then came quickly. When she was close enough, Mackenzie wrapped the girl up in her arms and pulled her out.
Behind them, the man continued to wail, his hands finding the chunk of wood affixed to his face.
Mackenzie took the girl’s head in her hands and looked her in the eyes. “Listen,” she said. “There are concrete stairs just outside that doorway. Sit on them and stay put. I’ll be out with you in just a minute.”
The girl nodded and when she did, Mackenzie undid the gag. The frayed scarf fell to the floor and the girl let out a stifled cry.
“Go,” Mackenzie said.
The girl did as she was instructed, stumbling through the doorway and leaving Mackenzie alone with the killer. Because he was still on the ground, Mackenzie didn’t have much of a problem securing him. She drew both of his arms behind his back, not really caring if she popped one of his shoulders out of socket.
He actually seemed to give in, going limp once she had his wrists secured behind his back with her spare set of plastic cuffs.
“You do what I say,” she told him. “The moment you fight back, I’m going to grab that wood sticking out of your face and drag it upwards really fast. You understand?”
He said nothing, so she applied more pressure to his wrists. His shoulders reared back a bit further than the human body was supposed to bend. He uttered a cry and nodded.
She hauled him to his feet, turned him around, and pushed him two steps toward the still-opened crawlspace. “On your knees,” she said.
He shook his head furiously and tried to step back. When he did, Mackenzie gave him a slight push and tripped him. He fell forward and she caught him by the shoulder as he dropped to his knees. She then placed her hand on the fragment of wood that still barely clung to his face. Blood was trickling down, but not as much as she would have suspected from such a grisly injury.
“Get in,” she said.
The man whimpered and started inside. When he was halfway in, Mackenzie drew her foot back and delivered a kick to his backside. He went sprawling into the dark and Mackenzie wasted no time slamming the door behind him. She then fastened the hook to the clasp on the doorframe, not realizing until it had fallen into place that she had started crying somewhere along the line.
She shook the tears away and took several deep breaths. As she dug into her pocket for her cell phone, she went out to the stairs with the girl. She sat down with the girl and placed a reassuring arm around her. Behind them, Mackenzie heard the man in the crawlspace start to scream.
“You okay?” Mackenzie asked her.
The girl said nothing. She simply shook her head and then she, too, started to cry. Mackenzie pulled the girl closer to her and used her free hand to pull up Bryers’s number. When she placed the phone to her ear and it started to ring, she was suddenly not fearful of the repercussions.
In fact, she was not afraid of much of anything in that moment.
So why are you on the verge of crying again?
She didn’t know the answer to that.
But when Bryers answered the phone, that was not a question that seemed important. In fact, when the phone call was over forty-five seconds later, she tossed her phone into the grass, put her head into the girl’s shoulder, and cried right along with her—not needing an answer.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Four days later
Mackenzie was finally able to eat whatever she wanted. For the three days following her rescue of Lauren Wickline, the doctor had told her that she could only eat soft foods like soup, yogurt, and smoothies. While she was glad her neck was mostly healed (just a few bruises and a slight strain along the left side), she really didn’t care about the solid foods. She hadn’t had much of an appetite ever since slamming that two-by-four into the killer’s face.
The killer’s name was Jim Parkerson. In an almost undramatic fashion, he had admitted to the deaths of Shanda Elliot, Susan Kellerman, Trevor Simms, and Dana Moore within an hour of being arrested. He even said there were two more no one had ever discovered but refused to give their names or when he had killed them.
Mackenzie only knew these things because Bryers had called to fill her in. He had called several times, in fact. Mostly, he just wanted to make sure she was okay. He wouldn’t come out and say so, but he felt guilty for leaving her on Estes Street. He should have stayed behind and made sure she left right behind him. Again, he never said any of this but Mackenzie could tell.
She was checking her e-mail, reading over the updates on the Jim Parkerson case, when someone knocked on her door. This is it, she thought, stepping away from her laptop. This is Bryers or McGrath coming by to give me my official leave.
When she opened the door, though, it was neither of them. Instead, it was Harry. He gave her a thin smile that made her feel surprisingly happy.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Sore throat,” she said, returning his small smile. “Come in, Harry.”
He did, looking around the place like a nervous teenager that was stepping foot into a girl’s room for the first time.
“I heard about what happened,” Harry said. “Hell, I think everyone has heard by now.”
“Is it bad?” she asked.
“Not at all. The jealousy everyone had toward you when you came in…it’s sort of turned to awe. You’re now a certified badass.”
She sat down on the couch. “I don’t feel like it,” she said. “I feel like an absolute wreck.”
“You don’t look like it, if that helps.”
“It does a little,” she said with a slight smile.
“So…is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.
She felt like she was being driven by some alien force when she reached her hand out to him. He took it and she gently led him to the couch. He took a seat next to her and before he was settled, she leaned over and kissed him. There was no heat to it, just a small unwavering kiss. Their lips never even parted, though the kiss lasted about five seconds.
“What was that for?” Harry asked when she pulled back.
“For me,” she said. “For…I don’t know.”
Harry nodded, still holding her hand. “You’re feeling alone in all of this, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. It was hard to admit, but there it was.
“Well, I’m always here if you need me. For a kiss or whatever else you need.” He gave her another smile, this one uncertain and nervous.
She opened her mouth to respond but another knock sounded out at the door.
“So much for feeling alone,” Harry said sarcastically. “You usually get this many visitors?”
“No, never,” she said, confused.
She answered the door and found three men standing on the other side. The faces were all familiar but the feeling that rolled through her guts was not pleasant.
Bryers, McGrath, and Ellington stood there, looking at her. They all wore solemn looks on their faces but after a moment, Bryers flashed her a smile.
“Can we come in?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, opening the door wider.
They walked in, single file behind her. Like Harry before them, they all took a glance around the apartment. McGrath made himself at home first, sitting down in the small armchair opposite the couch. He looked to Harry uncertainly and then sighed.
“Agent Dougan, correct?” McGrath said. “Harry Dougan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to ask you to leave, please,” McGrath said. “We need to speak with Ms. White in private.”
Harry nodded, looking to Mackenzie. He gave her a what are you g
onna do look and got to his feet. For a fleeting moment, he and Ellington gave one another a rather tense stare. When Harry got to the door, he turned back and waved.
“See you around,” he said.
“See you,” Mackenzie said.
When Harry had closed the door, the room went quiet for a while. Bryers went to the couch and took the spot Harry had recently vacated. Ellington remained on his feet, standing in front of the door.
“This couldn’t just be done over the phone?” Mackenzie asked.
“What’s that?” McGrath asked.
“I crossed a line,” she said. “I more than crossed it, I obliterated it. I disobeyed several direct orders. The writing is on the wall. I get it.”
“Yes, you did all of those things,” McGrath said. “And I was pissed beyond belief for about two days. But then…well, yes you did all of that. But you also captured a man that confessed to killing at least six people and you saved a seventeen-year-old girl from certain death. Given that, it’s hard to stay upset.”
“And there’s more,” Ellington said. His eyes were set on her in a way that made her feel uneasy. When she returned his gaze she saw, for a moment, the man that she’d nearly embarrassed herself for back in Nebraska.
“That’s right,” McGrath said. “Over the last two days, there have been several meetings concerning your future. At the root of it all was your apparent penchant for disobedience.”
“I’m sorry,” Mackenzie said. “Like I said, I—”
“No, it’s not like that,” Bryers said. He was looking to McGrath expectantly.
“I want you to report back to the Academy tomorrow,” McGrath said. “As long as your neck allows it. I want you to finish up and I want you to kick ass. I want you at the top of your class. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When your time at the Academy is over, the future is up to you.”
“How?” she asked.
McGrath looked to Ellington, silently giving him the floor. “There’s a new program for the top-ranked agents coming out of the Academy. We’re just now getting it off the ground, but we think you’d be a great way to test it.”