She grabbed a dark wool jacket and a hat from the hall closet. She pulled the hat down over her head, covering her blond hair. She grabbed her purse and car keys, pulled the door open and left with Morrison sitting silently, watching her every move.
Sam walked slowly to the car. The night was cold against her face. She was glad she had grabbed a hat. The rain had stopped. Clouds, reflecting the city lights, parted some to reveal a thin line of light from a waxing moon. Other clouds, thick with moisture, drifted by the slip of the moon in bunches. The air in the apartment complex smelled thickly of burning wood. She saw no one, as if the cold and dark of this late winter night had driven everyone inside.
Sam opened the car door and looked in the back seat before she slid inside and locked it. As she waited for the interior to warm, she studied a map of Grandview, a sprawling suburb on Denver’s West Side, on her cell phone. The city had been aptly named. It was positioned east toward Denver and the rising eastern plains by day and by night a sweeping view of a city filled with city lights that stretched toward those darkened plains. Chester Street looked to be about a twenty-minute drive north of her apartment. She knew the area only slightly, namely that a number of drug raids and arrests for meth and other hard drugs had once been conducted in the area because drug dealers liked its somewhat rural location.
Her big story, however, had put a stop to everything. Justice had been done. Or had it? It was the reason Wilson had been kidnapped and no longer had a left hand. And April, too. Sam gripped the steering wheel hard. Breathing heavily with fear and anger, she put the Accord in gear and pulled slowly from the apartment complex. During the drive, she glanced frequently in her mirror, thinking of the shiny black sedan, hoping she wasn’t being followed.
Twenty minutes later she reached Chester Street. Sam knew from the address that the house was located on the left side and near the end of the street. She started driving slowly down the street filled with nondescript houses. Lights were on in some of the homes, making them look safe and inviting. Others were dark.
Sam checked the addresses as she moved along the street. The next one would be the meth house. She slowed the car to a crawl as she rolled by the single-story, vinyl-sided house. The inside was dark as she expected it to be. After the bust, Sam had heard talk from some of the police officers that the residents on the street wanted the house burned to the ground.
From this distance, she could not tell if the house was light brown or cream colored. Long branches from a tall cottonwood tree in the middle of the yard covered most of the large front window that looked out to the street. Remnants from the last snowfall remained at the foot of the tree. Yellow tape police used to warn people to stay out of a restricted area was still wrapped around a portion of the tree. A piece of the tape flapped in the evening breeze, the only evidence remaining to suggest that something requiring police action had happened here.
Sam drove to the end of the block and made a U-turn in the middle of the street. She parked the car a few driveways down from the meth house. She turned off the engine and waited in the dark and watched the house as the car settled. The heat spilling out from the heater stopped and the warm air that Sam felt on the top of her shoes and legs quickly dissipated. She slipped on a pair of black leather gloves. She took the flashlight, pushed herself up slightly off the seat and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled the rope of the ax handle over her right wrist.
She got out of the car and walked slowly toward the meth house, her boots making a light crunching sound on the empty street. Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest, she thought it might come out her mouth. She reached the front lawn. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to bark. She stopped a moment and listened, looking left, then right. She waited. The sound stopped. She continued up the driveway. She was close enough now that she could see paint chipping away from the eaves on the house. She stepped on the porch, gripping the ax handle so tight that the inside of her hand was sweating. She looked in the front window, cupping her left hand around her eye. Darkness stared back.
She moved to the front door, trying hard to swallow her fear. She wanted to turn back, but the JPEG image of April sitting cross-legged on the floor with Wilson sprawled out next to her haunted Sam and pushed her forward.
She put her hand on the doorknob. She clenched her jaw as she squeezed the knob. To her surprised it turned easily. She hesitated only briefly before she pushed it open. Dank air surrounded her face like fog. She took a deep breath. The air was stale, the way a room smells that hasn’t been ventilated in some time. She pushed the door open further and, just as she was about to step inside, a dog began to bark. The sound startled Sam and she gasped. She would have dropped her ax handle had it not been for the rope. Sam listened a moment more, her heart racing and her right leg beginning to shake uncontrollably. She was scared. Her right leg only shook that way when someone or something truly frightened her.
The barking continued. It sounded as though it was coming from inside the house, the kitchen or perhaps just inside the living room. More barking. But something about it didn’t sound right. It had the same continual pitch and tone, so constant that it didn’t sound real, but mechanical. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that she could see a set of stereo speakers on the floor just beyond the front door. That’s exactly what it was, a device rigged up to sound like a dog barking. The sound would begin when motion was detected and emanated from there. She had to get inside and turn it off. She stepped inside the house and stumbled slightly over the threshold, almost falling. She caught herself and took the ax handle off her wrist to find the electrical cord. The barking was piercing her ears.
She found the cord, followed it to the wall and yanked it out. The barking stopped immediately. Sam’s ears rang in the sudden silence. She leaned against the wall, collecting her bearings and letting her fear settle. Her leg stopped shaking.
Enough light came from the street that she could make out the interior of the living room. It was empty of furniture, save for a single dining room chair made of light wood. It was positioned directly in front of the living room window, as though someone had been sitting there looking out.
She glanced down a short hallway. To her left, it jutted off into darkness to what Sam guessed were the bedrooms and bathroom. Most houses like these had only one bathroom. The refrigerator was directly in front of her. The ringing in her ears had stopped, and she could hear that the appliance was humming loudly. The Barbie Doll and Wilson’s hand popped unwillingly into her mind. It unnerved her to think that there might be something besides food and drink waiting for her inside the refrigerator.
She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from the wall. She took small, cautious steps toward the kitchen. She reached the threshold, but it was too dark in the kitchen to see much. She retrieved the flashlight. She waited a moment before turning it on, to brace herself for what she might find. She bit her bottom lip and flipped the light on. The flashlight cast a bright light over the room. She panned the light from the refrigerator over the stove to the cabinets. She could tell that it had been some time since anyone had actually lived here. Paint was chipping away from the cabinets. Some of the cabinets were open and she could see that nothing, no dishes, cups, glasses or staples, was inside. She directed the flashlight along the countertops. The ones that weren’t nicked were heavily stained with something she could not identify.
Sam entered the kitchen. She followed the beam of her flashlight toward the sink. The tap was dripping and a small rust stain had started to form at the back of the sink. Just as she turned around, she felt something run across the top of her shoe. She stifled a shriek, and kicked at it and then jumped back. Her stomach cramped with fear and her heart roared in her chest as she quickly panned the flashlight to the floor. The light caught a mouse scampering across the linoleum. She followed the creature with the flashlight as it made its way quickly across the floor. The mouse disappeared into the looming darkne
ss.
That’s when she saw the open door.
Sam’s breathing was labored and sweat had beaded up on her brow, soaking the front of her hat. She tried swallowing, but her mouth was dry. Her right leg began to shake again and she put a hand over her thigh to try to make it stop. She inched toward the open door, sorry now that she didn’t take the time to find the bullets for the service revolver and bring it with her. She reached the threshold and cast light into the hole filled with darkness. The tall beam rose and fell where she directed it. There were stairs down as far down as she could see. She was afraid to shine the light any farther down the stairs, unwilling yet to see what might lie ahead.
She braced herself a moment against the door jamb, wondering how wise it was to proceed any further alone. The morning she left to come home from Seattle, and the image of April walking across the yard holding hands with Esther to the bus flashed before her. As did the hopeless moments she waited in the cab outside April’s school, looking off in the direction of a place she was forbidden to enter. There was nothing to stop her here. Moved by the desperate desire to see her daughter again and hold her close, Sam started down the stairs.
Twenty-nine
Sam descended the stairs stepping as softly as she could, but everything around her was so quiet that her footsteps sounded heavy as though she were a giant. One step. Then another. She gripped the railing. The ax handle was dangling from her wrist and every so often knocked against the wall. She couldn’t help the noise. She had to hold the flashlight with one hand and the rail with the other. She didn’t want to fall.
On the sixth step she stopped. She held her breath as she directed the beam toward the bottom, hoping the last of the stairs would be in view. The light stopped at the foot of the last step. Sam counted nine more stairs.
In the semi darkness just beyond the stairs, she could see a short landing. She cast the light a little farther in that direction. It stopped at a door, a plain simple white door with a silver knob. It was closed. She swallowed hard, focusing on the doorknob, weighing her options and wondering if she were about to walk into a trap. She considered turning around. But she had moved beyond the point at which returning was an option. She took each step until she reached the bottom, her lips pursed in a thin straight line and breathing heavily through her nose.
Once she reached the landing, she gripped the ax handle firmly and headed for the door, reaching it in several short steps. She put her hand on the knob and hesitated only a moment. The door opened easily.
Sam cast the beam inside the room. She saw it was only an entrance, a portal that led yet to another door. She wondered if the passage was the start of a labyrinth where she might lose her way. She stepped cautiously toward the door. The thought of seeing her daughter on the other side propelled her forward. She reached the door, and only then realized that it was not completely closed. She shone the flashlight through the partially opened door, but couldn’t see anything.
Momentarily forgetting her fear, she placed an open hand on the door and pushed it slightly. The hinges creaked against the movement. Sam bit her bottom lip and pushed the door open. The beam of light fell into the room, her eyes wide with fear, followed.
The room was empty and small. She was hit immediately with a distinct odor. “Cat urine.” Sam said in a confident whisper, remembering the night she and Rey talked about it in the police cruiser when they stalked High Pointe Warehouse. He had told her it was a byproduct of making meth. She stifled a cough as the stale but still pungent odor assailed her. Letting the ax handle dangle from her wrist, she squeezed her nose between her thumb and index finger and breathed through her mouth. The scent from her leather glove made it slightly easier to breathe.
She pushed the door open as far as it would go and stepped into the room, moving the flashlight from wall to wall. She guessed that the room was no bigger than eight by ten feet, twelve at the most. She brought the flashlight to the center of the room, unprepared for what she was about to see. She felt the hair on the back of her head stand on end as a shriek quickly and loudly escaped from her lips.
A small man dressed in dark clothes stood before her. Sam had never seen hair so white. She guessed him to be her height, perhaps an inch or two shorter. At the sight of her, he folded his arms across his chest and smiled in a smug way. He began to tap his foot. She expected his smile to reveal long, sharp white teeth, just waiting to rip into her flesh.
“Well. Well. We’ve been waiting for you, Samantha Christine.”
But it wasn’t the man with the white hair who spoke. The sound came from another corner of the room, out of sight from the beam of Sam’s flashlight. The voice was cool and collected, seemingly satisfied that she had, in fact, been snared. Her right leg began to shake as she fumbled to center the ax handle securely in her hand. “Who are you? Where’s my daughter? I want them back right now,” Sam said, keeping her voice firm while trying to control her growing fear. She could not stop her leg from shaking, with one hand holding the ax handle, the other the flashlight.
She heard the man in the shadows begin to laugh. Empty. Evil. Cold. The sound of it moved over her skin like a dull razor. “Have you come to save them with your ax handle?” he asked.
Sam gripped the handle tighter.
“Tough talk for such a fragile woman,” the man in the shadows said.
Sam held her ground, her right leg still shaking. She tried pressing her right foot firmly against the floor, but it didn’t help. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” came the reply.
“Are you the one who’s been following me in that black car?”
With that, the man in the shadows stepped into the light. He was a tall, slender Hispanic man, with a shock of thick black hair, wearing a black leather coat that stopped just above his knees. “As a matter of fact,” he said coolly. “I am. Good little Samantha Christine always using her turn signal. Wouldn’t want to get stopped by the police for failing to use our signal now would we?”
Sam swallowed hard when she saw him reach into his coat pocket. He took note of her fear and laughed. “Don’t worry, Samantha, I am not going to shoot you…” his voice trailed off as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from an inside pocket and shook one loose. “Just yet.”
“The methmaker,” Sam said and nodded as if she had added a missing piece to a complex puzzle. “You’re the methmaker.”
He looked at her with indifference. “I prefer Juan.”
“Juan Garcia,” she confirmed.
Juan pulled the cigarette from the pack with his lips, watching her. He brought a lighter to his mouth and lit it, covering his face with his long, thin hands. He blew smoke from his nose and placed the cigarettes back in his pocket. He nodded. “That’s right Samantha. That’s who I am.” His name was Juan Garcia. At least that’s what everyone called him. He wanted a common, unassuming name, not one that would stand out as did his given name: Alajandro Luis Barraza.
Juan looked at the white-haired man and then surveyed the rest of the room. “I wanted you to come here first,” he said grasping the cigarette between his index and middle finger and taking a deep drag on it before pulling it away from his mouth. “Because I wanted you to see this.”
Silence fell for a brief moment in the small room.
“Take a look around,” he said, extending the hand with the cigarette out over the room, as if it were a place of beauty and something to admire.
Sam did as she was asked.
“For more years than I can remember, Samantha, I made a great deal of money working out of this little shithole,” Juan said before taking a moment to look around the room. “Then this woman came along and starting poking around where she didn’t belong,” he said, his eyes black and void. Juan’s reptilian stare was so penetrating that Sam had to look away. “Of course, we had to do away with her,” he added matter-of-factly, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “I’m sure you know who I am talking about.”
“She was a foolish, foolish girl, Samantha, just like you. But even I had to give her credit for her persistence, which cost her her life. And then you came along. You were far more damaging to us than I believe she was. Because look…” Juan’s voice trailed off as his long bony hand made another full sweep around the room. “There’s nothing left. And you’re the cause of it and now you will pay.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Sam said and her voice was defiant. “Where’s Wilson? I want my daughter back now. I want both of them back now.”
Both men laughed at Sam holding her flashlight and ax handle. Juan flicked an ash, then took another hit off the cigarette. “You’re a foolish, foolish girl, Samantha Christine, coming here all alone thinking that you were going to walk right out of here with the old man and the little girl so you could be one big happy family again.” Juan dropped the cigarette to the floor and stepped on it, twisting and turning it hard into the ground. He spoke with indifference. “What makes you think they’re even still alive?”
“I know they’re still alive,” Sam said with an authority she did not feel. “You wouldn’t let me off that easily. I saw what you did to Wilson.” Her eyes narrowed to thin, angry slits. “People like you like to see people like me squirm, and beg, and plead.”
Juan nodded and a crooked smile spread over his face. He looked to the white-haired man and gave a quick flick of his head in Sam’s direction. Before the white-haired man had a chance to move, Sam turned and bolted from the room, moving with speed and agility she didn’t realized she had. She slammed the door hard in their faces.
Revenge is Sweet (A Samantha Church Mystery, Book 2) Page 23