“Isn’t there something else I could help with?”
“I don’t think so. Go on now.”
The sound of a car turning onto the gravel driveway made Jolene look up. “Oh, that must be Marshall. He’s early.” She craned her neck and glanced out the window. “No, it’s not. That’s not the mini-van. I wonder who could be—”
She turned just in time to see Hannah fumbling with the kitchen door.
“What are you doing? Hannah! It’s freezing out there.”
As Hannah yanked the door open, her heart contracted. Before her, standing on the step, blocking the way, loomed Judith Kowalski. A scowl was burned into her face.
“That’s far enough!” she said. “Let’s go back inside, shall we?”
Hannah tried to twist free, but quick, angular movements were beyond her capabilities. Her body seemed to have switched over to slow-motion, like a bear preparing for hibernation. Judith grabbed her fiercely by the elbow and spun her around as if she were a naughty school child, being marched off to the principal’s office.
“Who is it, Judith?” Jolene asked.
“I don’t know. Some woman. Send her away.”
Hannah pulled to the side and grabbed onto the edge of the counter with her free hand. On the cutting board, where she had left it, lay the knife. She stretched for it, actually felt it with the tip of her fingers, before Judith gave her body another tug forward. The knife slipped out of her grasp and fell into the sink.
There was nothing for her to do now but scream. If she screamed loud and long enough, Teri would hear and come running. It was her only chance. She took a deep breath and pushed the air out of her lungs with all her force.
“TEERRRIIII—”
A dishrag in her mouth cut the cry short. Hannah gagged. Her vision clouded over and her arms started to flap erratically, as if obeying a will of their own. She was going to suffocate.
“Breathe through your nose,” Judith hissed in her ear. “You’ll be fine if you breathe through your nose.” As the pressure on Hannah’s mouth increased, she ceased to struggle. Her legs buckled and she slipped to the floor.
“Thought you were being smart, didn’t you?” Judith muttered, standing over her.
Outside, Teri turned off the motor, pulled her coat around her and prepared to brave the chill, when she spotted Jolene Whitfield walking toward the car. Teri rolled down the window.
“Nice to see you,” Jolene called out, as she came closer. “Teri, isn’t it? Hannah’s friend from Fall River. Isn’t this a nice surprise!”
“How are you, Mrs. Whitfield?”
“Can’t complain. Except for this cold, of course. I expect you’ve come to see Hannah. I wish you’d given us some advance warning. She’s not here.”
“When is she coming back?”
“She left just a little while ago and said not to expect her before dinner. That’s about seven. You’re more than welcome to stay and join us, if you’d like.”
Jolene smiled, as she bounced up and down and rubbed her arms briskly in an attempt to stay warm. The offer seemed genuine enough.
“That’s funny. We made arrangements to get together a couple of days ago.”
“Did you? She mentioned nothing about it to me.”
No, she wouldn’t, Teri thought. You’re the last person she would have told. “Are you still going on vacation tomorrow?”
“I wish we were. But Hannah was nervous about traveling in her condition, so we put it off. I can’t say I blame her.”
Was that it? Teri wondered. Nervousness? Maybe with the change of plans, Hannah had simply forgotten about the visit. She’d sounded discombobulated on the phone and Jolene wasn’t exactly a calming influence.
“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?” she inquired.
“My heavens, yes. Hannah likes to spend time by herself now. She’s become more private. But what with the baby due in less than a month, I guess she has a lot to think about. So we leave her alone and humor her moods…How are your boys? Two boys, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. The delinquents, we call them. Energetic as ever. Look, Mrs. Whitfield, I’d love to wait, but I’m scheduled to work tonight. If Hannah isn’t coming back until late afternoon…”
“That’s what she said.”
“Well, tell her to give me a call tomorrow morning.”
“I will. Sorry you made the trip for nothing.”
Jolene watched the car go back down the driveway, come to a halt at the privet hedge, then pull out into Alcott Street. Before it was out of sight, she raised her hand and gave a little wave.
Teri spotted the turn-off for Route 128 on the next rise and was all prepared to take it, when the impulse hit her. Slowing the car down, she pulled off onto the soft shoulder and let the motor idle. Then, without knowing exactly what she was going to do, she turned the car around and headed back toward East Acton.
She parked in the lot next to Our Lady of Perpetual Light and sat for a moment, sorting out her thoughts. She couldn’t remember the young priest’s name. It was a common name. Something like Father Willy or Father Joey. At any rate, something that sounded a little silly for a priest.
She rang the rectory doorbell several times. Eventually, the door opened a crack and the face of an elderly, white-haired woman peaked out.
“What is it?”
“Good morning. Or rather good afternoon. Could you help me? I’m looking for a young, attractive priest.”
The door swung wider to reveal the rectory housekeeper, wearing a faded calico apron over a black dress and a faintly puzzled expression on her brow.
“I’m afraid that didn’t come out right,” Teri said. “What I mean, is I’m looking for a certain priest at this parish. I can’t remember his name. I just know that he’s young and, you-know, good-looking. Is there someone here like that? It’s important that I speak to him.”
“That would be Father Jimmy, I suppose,” the woman said, as she backed up to let Teri into the entrance hall. “Not that the Monsignor doesn’t cut a fine figure for a man his age. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll see if he’s free.”
She gestured toward the reception room and shuffled up the stairs.
Jimmy, Teri thought. She wasn’t that far off. She barely had time to inspect what to her mind was the rather forbidding furniture, when she heard someone bounding down the stairs.
Hannah definitely hadn’t overstated his attractiveness. Nice smile, long legs, slender, and the kind of dark eyes generally referred to as bedroom. What a waste, she thought.
“You wanted to see me? I’m Father Jimmy,” he said.
“Hello, Father. My name is Teri Zito. I’m a friend of Hannah Manning’s.”
“There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
“I was hoping you might know. This is going to sound foolish of me, but I just came from the house on Alcott Street, and she wasn’t there. We had made plans for her to come to my place today. I live in Fall River. When I got there, Mrs. Whitfield said she’d gone off for the day.”
“And you’re worried about her.”
“That’s not like Hannah. And I know she’s been uneasy about staying there lately. Anyway, she told me about you and I thought you might have an idea where she was. Actually, I just wanted to talk to someone.”
“I can understand how you might be concerned, Mrs. Zito.” The Monsignor’s injunction came back to him, loud and categorical. “I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid I haven’t talked to Hannah in several days. There’s bound to be an explanation. If I hear anything, I’ll be glad to—
“No, that’s all right. I’m sure it’s just a mix-up. I warned you I was going to sound foolish. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“It’s no bother, really.”
The priest accompanied her to the door and watched while she negotiated the porch steps. At the bottom, she paused to look back at him. “I just want you to know that Hannah has spoken very fondly of you, Father. Thank you for being kind to her. You’re
the only friend she’s got up here. And well…she’s young and, I don’t know if innocent is the right word. No one is innocent these days. But she’s…a good person. You know what I mean?”
He nodded. Wistfully, she thought.
1:40
Once Teri’s car had disappeared, Hannah was taken upstairs to her bedroom by the two women, who walked on either side of her, each one gripping an arm. Hannah felt like a traitor being led to the tower.
“We’re sorry to have to do this, Hannah,” Jolene explained, as they reached the third floor. “We shared some very private information with you and you let us believe that you appreciated the importance of your role. We didn’t expect you to behave like this. Now we have to protect what is ours. I hope you understand.”
“Don’t waste the words on her,” Judith said.
The door was locked and Hannah found herself alone for the rest of the afternoon. Her sole preoccupation was how she could escape from the house and how soon. From all the signs, they didn’t intend to keep her here much longer. And after this incident, who knew where she would end up now?
Of course, she could open the window and start screaming again. But you could barely see the house next door and there was no shortage of dishrags in this one. Or she could try to pick the lock on the bedroom door, but she had no clue how to begin, and the available tools - a pair of scissors, tweezers, the silverware on her breakfast tray - were not those of the master burglar.
Somehow she couldn’t see herself climbing out onto the roof, either! Outside, the sky was morose and a light rain had begun to fall. With the temperature going down, the rain would turn to sleet before long and the roof would be as slippery as an oil slick. Not that she would ever dare test it.
She had to come up with a plan.
When Marshall brought her dinner, he asked her if she was doing okay.
“I’m fine.”
“You weren’t hurt?”
“No.”
“I’m glad.”
On his way out of the room, he paused, as if he was about to say something more, then changed his mind. He locked the door behind him.
Hannah went to bed, her mind numb, seemingly incapable of activity. The great escape plan hadn’t occurred to her and probably wouldn’t. What kind of a match was she for three healthy adults? Four, if you counted Dr. Johanson. Eight months pregnant, clumsy, tired, overwrought! What’s more, she had to pee! Lately, the baby’s head had begun to press against her bladder and the need to urinate frequently was complicating her life.
She rolled out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, came back to bed.
Two hours later, she awoke with the same urgent need and it was only 1:30. Again, she wearily made her way to and from the bathroom. That was when the idea came to her. It wasn’t foolproof by any means, but if she played it right…Besides, what other choices did she have?
She switched on the bedside lamp. In her bureau drawer, she found a pair of old wool running socks. What else? Her eyes darted about the room. The notebook would work!
Tearing out several sheets, she wadded them into tight balls.
A plain wooden pole was all she needed now. The umbrella in the closet would have to do. She took everything into the bathroom and lifted the lid of the toilet.
She dropped the sock into the water first, pushed it as far down the drain as she could, then using the point of the umbrella, wedged it even deeper. She wrapped the balled-up notepaper in toilet tissue and plugged it in next, and, then for good measure, sealed it off with what remained on the roll. Satisfied with the job, she stepped back and flushed.
The water level in the commode rose slowly and stopped just short of the rim. She waited to see if it would recede. When it didn’t, she flushed a second time and the water cascaded over the top onto the tile floor. One more time, and the tiles were covered.
Now she had to awake somebody. Jolene and Marshall slept in the bedroom directly under hers, while Judith had taken the guest room across the hall.
“Hello!” she cried out. “I have a problem. Help!” The sound of her fists pounding on the door resonated in the stairwell. Her hands hurt, when at long last she heard stirring below.
“Is anybody up?” she called out.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” It was Marshall. The lock clicked and he stuck his head inside.
“It’s the toilet. It’s all plugged up. There’s water everywhere. I have to pee so badly I’m going to burst.” She hopped from one foot to the other, as if she were dancing on hot coals.
He took in the absurd jig with puffy eyes, not yet fully adjusted to the light, and plodded toward the bathroom to investigate. “Let me see what I can do. You can use the toilet downstairs.”
“You got here just in time.”
The Whitfields had their own private bathroom, but a guest bathroom was located at the end of the hall. Jolene was sitting up in bed, as Hannah tip-toed by. She stayed in the bathroom for ten minutes, flushed the toilet, ran the tap loudly in the sink. Then she returned upstairs.
Marshall had mopped up most of the water with towels, but had made little progress unclogging the toilet. His frustration was compounded by the late hour and the lack of proper equipment. “What the hell did you put down here?” he muttered.
“Too much toilet paper. It’s been one of those nights,” Hannah said apologetically. “I seem to have the use the bathroom every hour.”
“I’ll have to fix it tomorrow morning.”
“What do I do in the meantime?”
He shrugged, not wanting to deal with that problem right now. “I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to continue to use the one on the second floor.”
His soggy slippers left watery footprints on the bedroom floor.
“Thanks,” Hannah said to his departing form. She held her breath, waiting for the familiar tumble of the bolt. But all she heard, or thought she did, was the squish-squish of his feet going down the stairs.
Her door was unlocked!
She had counted on the fact that her bathroom needs were well known to all and accepted as an inevitable condition of her pregnancy. It had worked. Unless Marshall hadn’t gone back to bed at all, and was lurking in the darkness somewhere, waiting for her. She doubted it. That was the stuff of horror movies - people shouting “boo” in the middle of the night.
Forty-five minutes went by before she repeated the charade -creeping down the stairs, disappearing into the second-floor bathroom, flushing the toilet and running the tap. If anyone was awake, she was just making another obligatory bathroom trip. She was careful, when she got back to her room, to shut her door loudly enough so that it could be heard on the second floor.
It was almost four o’clock, when she got up again, this time making as little noise as possible. From the stillness of the house, everyone had settled into a deep sleep. The sleet had let up and the sky had partially cleared. The lawn shimmered, as if it had been dusted with cut glass. Without turning on a light, Hannah quietly pulled on her long johns and several pairs of tights. Two sweatshirts, a cable-knit sweater, a pair of pants and scarf came next. She was beginning to feel like Charlie Brown, dressed for a blizzard. She rolled up the pants legs, so that when she put on her bathrobe, only the tights showed. The tights and the shoes. Hopefully, no one would look at her feet. Hopefully, no one would be looking at all.
She slipped the change purse with all her money into a pocket and said a quick prayer.
She had planned the descent in stages. Getting to the bathroom was the easy part (the baby would always serve as her excuse, if caught.) Nonetheless, she was perspiring profusely by the time she reached the second floor and her heart was thumping so loudly that she feared it would wake the whole neighborhood. She stood just inside the bathroom, ear to the door, and listened to the ambient noise - the creaks and moans of beams and floorboards a hundred and fifty years old, as the oil heater switched off. There were no human sounds that she could distinguish.
She gave herself anot
her five minutes to be sure, then, like a swimmer dipping a toe into frigid ocean waters, took her first tentative step down the final set of stairs. She counseled herself not to stop, once she’d started, and to concentrate only on her goal, the front door. It was now or never.
Midway, a stair tread squeaked under her weight, and she froze, while a shiver ran up her back. She made herself go on. The braided rugs in the hall would muffle her steps, once she got there. The outlines of the front door were visible now in the milky illumination that came through the windows and made silver coffins on the floor. She crossed the hall and turned the dead bolt on the front door with barely a sound. (The kitchen door, witness to her last abortive escape, needed oiling and was to be avoided.)
Carefully, she cracked open the door and braced herself for the rush of cold. When there was room enough for her to slip out - in her condition that meant the door was half open - she stepped over the threshold into the night air.
That was when the hand grabbed her by the hair.
“Marshall! Come quick!” Judith Kowalski shrieked, as she pulled Hannah back over the threshold into the hall, pulled so hard that Hannah thought the top of her scalp would come off. The sound of the woman’s voice and the sharp stab of pain triggered a flood of adrenaline in her body. She was not going to be incarcerated again, not going to be gagged and trussed like an animal. They had no right to treat her this way.
She spun around, arms flailing, and hit the woman in the face. The shock of the blow, more than its force, startled Judith, who loosened her grip on Hannah’s hair. Hannah managed to get back over the threshold, when Judith, coming from behind, was on her again, slipping one arm around her throat in a choke hold, the other arm locking the paralyzing grip in place.
Hannah gasped for air. The struggle lasted only a couple of seconds. The linked bodies revolved several times in a circle, a drunken merry-go-round of two, so that Hannah lost her bearings and didn’t realize how close to the edge of the steps they were. Her lungs screamed for breath. In a last effort to free herself, she drove her elbow hard into Judith’s stomach. That blow - and the ice that had crystallized on the edge of the stoop - combined to send Judith reeling backwards, down the steps and onto the walkway. The bricks shone like the glazing on a holiday pastry. The woman hit them with a thud.
The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one Page 21