by Becki Willis
“No, no, y’all go on and get us a table. He dropped me off earlier, so there’s no telling where he parked. It may take him a while to fight the lines and get back here.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” Genny smiled. “Order me a margarita.”
Despite what she told her friend, it took Cutter longer to return than she expected. With a steady trickle of people stopping to speak as they made their way out of the stadium, Genny did not notice the time at first. But the crowded parking lot was practically empty now, and still he had not shown.
He was probably talking to someone. Everyone knew Cutter Montgomery, son of the legendary Tug Montgomery. His father, the only Heisman trophy winner ever to come from The Sisters, was honored with a special award tonight. Perhaps his parents had stopped him to show off the plaque.
When she finally saw the big truck pull up in front of her, she sighed in relief. Her feet hurt, more from the heels she wore tonight than from her ambitious hike last night.
Cutter usually came around to help her into the tall vehicle, but tonight he did not offer. Arms filled with the bag carrying her change of clothes, the long stemmed rose from half time, and her purse, she managed to climb in without assistance.
“I was beginning to wonder about you,” she admitted, adjusting her load as she shut the door. She heard the automatic door locks click in place as she pulled the seatbelt across her lap and fastened it. “Maddy and Brash are probably wondering where we are. My margarita may be all watery by now.”
But it was not Cutter’s voice that replied. It was the clipped tones of the Englishman, and they sent a chill through Genny’s soul.
“I’m sorry, Genesis my dear, but there has been a change in plans.”
Before she could think to open the door, before she could ask where Cutter was and why Pembrook was here, driving the truck in his stead, Genny felt the prick of a needle in her neck.
Her vision became blurry. She felt a rush of warmth travel through her veins. The sound of the sea roared in her ears.
And then there was no sound at all.
Chapter Eighteen
She awoke to complete darkness. She was lying on a cold, hard surface, with no padding, and no pillow. It felt like... stone. Genny trailed her fingers outward, trying to guess where she might be. She had the impression of a tight, crowded space, perhaps because another hard surface pressed against her entire left side. Her fingers climbed upward. Yes, definitely something made of rock.
Genny struggled to a sitting position and promptly whacked her head. She cried out in pain. Did her cry just echo? She gingerly felt overhead and found her perimeters. She could sit up if she kept her back slightly slouched.
Dampness seeped in through the fabric of her red dress. At least, she hoped it was dampness, and not blood. Genny did a quick inventory of her limbs and torso. No open wounds, at any rate. No particular pain, other than stiffness and the unyielding pressure of rock biting into her rear.
Where was she? She seemed to be completely surrounded by stone.
“Hello?” she called out. “Anyone there?”
“Hello. Hello. Hello.” Her own voice answered, echoing back in eerie detail. “Anyone there. One there. One there.”
Genny gasped, instinctively drawing her legs inward. She was in a cave! That explained the complete and utter darkness that engulfed her.
The area was known for caves. Along the limestone bluffs that fanned out from the river and edged the far perimeter of the towns, numerous caves were known to exist. Cutter had once told her about a cave under his very own house, buried deep beneath the hill. He had offered to take her there sometime, but Genny declined the offer. She was a tad bit claustrophobic.
She couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t think about how the walls seemed to press inward, crowding her, challenging her for air. Couldn’t think about the darkness and how no sliver of light, not even the faintest glow, penetrated the density of the stone. She couldn’t think about how far beneath the earth’s surface she might be, how far from the taste of fresh air and sunshine. Couldn’t think about how a single shift among the rocks could block all exits, trapping her here in death.
No, no, no, she couldn’t think about that. She had to keep a level head.
Caves, Genny knew, often harbored sharp drop-offs and deep, cavernous pits. Some held water; some held a free-fall straight to hell. She dared not to move around in the darkness, least she find one of those pits.
She drug her hand along the floor beneath her, gathering small pebbles. She launched one a few feet to her right, just past where her head had lain. She heard it strike. Good, a solid surface. She launched another stone, this one further out, and heard another ping. So far, so good. She aimed the next stone to her left, past the distance her outstretched feet had been. Another ping. Still another, several feet past. Genny estimated she was on a solid surface that stretched at least twelve feet long.
Now for the depth of the space. She gathered a few more loose pebbles and launched the first one straight across, to get the feel of the size room she was in. Not very wide, she guessed. Twelve feet, at most. But plenty big for airflow, she assured herself.
She launched a series of pebbles at the ground, to judge how far out she could venture. Just past her scrunched up feet, she heard the comforting ping of stone against stone. She threw another three feet beyond, hitting more stone. Good, so she could stretch her legs out. Genny carefully did so, raking her foot along the cold floor to assure herself it was solid. She stretched her legs in either direction, fanning them outward to test her boundaries. No obstructions, no free fall. Good.
She launched the next missile, just a bit further out, but failed to hear the same reassuring ping.
Maybe the stone was too small, she told herself. She found one that was heavier. Tossed it with more force. Heard nothing in response.
Holding her breath, Genny eased forward. She stretched her leg out as far as it would go, bouncing it along the floor, until her foot made contact with nothing but air, some five feet out. She stifled a gasp. Very hesitantly, Genny pulled off her shoe and extended her foot again, feeling along the ledge of stone, learning the shape of the jagged edge. It dipped inward to her left, a good six inches or more. Genny was careful to crawfish her way back against the wall, keeping her retreat in a straight course.
It was cold down here in the earth’s inner bowels, surrounded by stone, and her dress was not made for warmth. Genny curled herself into a ball and tried to think positive thoughts.
Brash and Maddy would already be looking for her. So would Cutter, wherever he might be. She could not allow herself to think of the firefighter laying hurt and bleeding somewhere, ambushed by Pembrook and left behind like old garbage. No, Cutter was fine, and he was looking for her, as well. She had to believe that.
Genny had no idea how long she sat there, alone and cold in the darkness. It could have been ten minutes. It could have been two hours. When her body became cramped and stiff, she stretched out in her safety zone, satisfied that she would not do a sudden free-fall to her death.
At some point, she dozed off to sleep. A noise awakened her, and she watched as a faint light appeared somewhere in the far distance, and steadily grew stronger. Even knowing it was Pembrook, she had never been so glad to see another soul in her entire life.
He shone the light in her eyes, blinding her. “So you’re awake, I see.”
“I’m cold, Pembrook. Please, I need a blanket.” Her voice shivered as she spoke, skipping along like sleet on a frozen pond. She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to create enough friction to produce a spark of warmth.
“Very well. Your first surprise is ready. Come along.”
“I—I can’t see where I’m going. I can’t stand up.”
“Crawl forward five feet, and then stand.” He deliberately kept the light in her eyes. Genny had no choice but to believe him, but only because she had already tested the distance.
&nbs
p; Pulling her body into a standing position was more difficult than she imagined. The cold had set into her bones, magnified by the cramped position. Who knew how long she had been there? Genny felt every bit of her years as she listened to the creak and crackle of her bones.
“Take my hand,” he instructed.
Genny reached out to take his hand, knowing he used the order as a test of her faith in him. Let him think what he wanted. His hand offered warmth.
As he led her from the room, she glanced around at her holding cell. His lantern cast the space in dim light and dark shadows. The shadows made the space feel eerie, particularly where they took a deep plunge on the far side of the room. She shivered again and followed Pembrook out of the room.
They traveled down a long passage, until suddenly the walls fanned out in either direction, opening into a wide, airy space. There were thirty feet ceilings here, hung with natural crystals and stunning stalactites, some small, some amazingly long and detailed. Genny remembered reading somewhere that touching the formations with the human hand would stunt their growth for hundreds of years. How long had it taken to create such magnificent creations such as these?
Dozens of twinkling lights and a handful of lanterns scattered along the floor, their reflections mirrored among the crystals. The natural beauty of the space stunned her.
“Where—Where are we?” she asked. She could see the floor quite well and knew it was solid. She dropped Pembrook’s hand, warmth or no warmth.
“In our own private ballroom, my dear,” he said. “Isn’t it lovely? And over here, we have your bed chambers.” He swept his hand behind them, to the far side of the passage they came from. A cot snuggled into the alcove, but Genny focused on only one thing.
“Blankets!” she said, hurrying to wrap herself in the promise of warmth.
She sat on the cot and covered herself from shoulder to toe, losing herself in the blessed warmth of the soft fabric. It could have scratched like horsehair, for all she cared, as long as it kept the cold at bay. She drew some small measure of comfort from that knowledge that the cot was only wide enough for one.
As her body temperature slowly rose to moderate levels, Genny studied the room before her. It had to be a hundred feet deep and at least half as wide. The tall ceilings made it seem larger, but shadows and rocks crept in along the edges, containing its spread. The lights were limited to a specific area of the cavernous space, but their defused beam gave the surrounding limestone walls a soft, luminous glow. Overhead, the natural chandeliers twinkled iridescent, as lovely as the finest lighting fixture.
Off to one side, Genny spotted a table and two chairs, elaborately set with white cloth, crystal goblets, and silver candelabra. Her stomach turned at the sight. If it were anyone other than Pembrook, the setting would be delightful. Enchantingly romantic.
With Pembrook, it was simply creepy.
How long had it taken him to set this up? she wondered. And how had he even known this cave was here? He was not from The Sisters. Genny had grown up here, and even she did not recognize where she was.
She and Tommy had sneaked into a cave once, she recalled. She hadn’t even told Maddy of the experience, not when that was the night she lost her virginity. Caves, she knew from experience, could be romantic, when shared with the right man.
Cutter came to mind again. Was he all right? Where was he? And how would be ever find her down here?
“What did you do with Cutter?” she asked, her voice echoing back with his name.
Pembrook had his back to her as he stood over a stack of plastic crates.
“That little boy you trifled with? Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. His ego may be a bit bruised, but his body will feel no ill effects. A headache, at worst.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.
Genny brought one of the blankets along with her as she crossed the room to where Pembrook stood. “Where are we? Where have you brought me? And why?”
“Don’t worry, we are still in your beloved one-horse town.” He paused for effect, shrugging his shoulder. “More or less. I suppose ‘beneath’ would be a more accurate term.”
“Where?” she demanded.
These didn’t appear to be the same caves where Maddy and Derron had been trapped after discovering a drug operation. Maddy had never described anything as beautiful as this.
Pembrook turned to look at her, pursing his lips as he considered whether or not to answer her question. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. You could never find your way out. And he could never find you in time.”
The ominous implication sent a chill back over her skin, but Genny willed her voice to come out steady and true. “Where are we, Pembrook?”
He practically giggled in delight, obviously impressed with his own brilliance. “We are right beneath your lover’s house. The old farmhouse, the one he takes you to sometime.”
“How—How do you know that?” Her voice came out rattled, in spite of her best intentions.
“Oh, I know all sorts of things about this town and its people, my dear. All sorts of things.”
“Like what, Pembrook? And how do you supposedly know all these things?”
“Well, let me see.” He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace, circling around her. “There is the newspaper. A bit outdated and not at all what I’m accustomed to, but did you know these small town papers have gossip columns?” He was almost giddy with the discovery. “Yes, it’s true. Someone named Lurlene Hamilton writes a weekly column, just like clockwork, every time the paper is published. Weekly, mind you. Not a morning edition. Not a daily edition. Weekly!”
“Yes, Pembrook, I am well aware of the paper’s schedule,” she assured him dryly.
“Ah, then you are familiar with the column. Lately, by Lurlene. Quite a catchy title, since the columns always begin with some tantalizing tidbit, such as ‘Lately, my bursitis has been acting up. Jubal tells me it is a sign of the weather about to change’. Fascinating stuff, that. I am particularly fond of the happenings around town. ‘Lately, we’ve noticed a bit more activity in the oil fields. Does this mean the industry is coming back to life?’ Or, ‘Lately, we’ve noticed Cutter Montgomery’s truck parked outside New Beginnings Café on a regular basis. Could be the food. Could be a fire precaution. Or it could be the hot little number who runs the café, the lovely and talented Genesis Baker, one of Naomi’s own’. Such a glowing endorsement from the local newspaper!”
Each time he circled, Pembrook edged in closer.
“Then there is the internet. One can find all sorts of useful information on the internet. There is topography imaging, public records, searches for everything imaginable, addresses, phone numbers, a veritable feast of information! But the most useful are the social networks, and those fascinating things people call chat rooms. Why, you can talk to anyone, anywhere, and ask any question you want. And guess what? People will answer your question, no matter what it is! Why, if a person was of a mind to, he could find out all about a town and its residents, before he ever stepped foot within its physical boundaries.”
“You stalked me. You stalked the entire town, before you ever came,” Genny realized.
“Oh, that is such a harsh term, Genesis. I never have liked it. Let’s use another one, shall we? How about... investigated? Yes, that sounds more acceptable.” He leaned in closer, so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath as it skittered across her shoulders. Warmth or no, it brought chills. “I investigated the town before I ever came.”
Genny tugged the blanket closer around her, as if the single layer of cloth could protect her from the madman.
“And of course,” he continued, still circling around her like a hawk circled its prey, “there is the greatest source of all.” He tossed back his pale head and smiled broadly, hitching his thumbs into make-believe suspenders. His voice came out as thick and sticky as river bottom mud. “The friendly, helpful folk of Podunk, Texas, US of A.”
He resumed his proper posture,
hands once again clasped behind his back. “Yes, it is true; the people here are quite friendly. When you ask directions, they not only give them to you, they get into their cars and lead you there! If you inquire about someone, they give you that person’s entire life history, and then they take you by the hand and introduce you to that very person! If you are particularly fortunate, you drop in at dinnertime, and actually get an invitation to stay for a home cooked meal! And in the comfort of their own home, they are more than pleased to tell you all manner of information about themselves, and the towns, and the dear people who inhabit them. Yes, indeed, the people here are amazingly friendly and helpful. And truly, ignorantly, trusting. I could tell them anything, really, and they would believe me. What is that saying you Americans have? Hook, line, and sinker?”
“I was thinking stark raving mad,” Genny muttered.
“What is that you say, my dear?”
“Who told you about this cave, Pembrook?”
“I don’t recall the first time I heard about this particular cave. But when I discovered it was here, directly under his house, I simply couldn’t resist the delicious irony of it all!”
“So now what, Pembrook?” Better to know her fate now, than to have the truth drawn out in painful increments.
“First, we dance.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a remote control. Soft music filled the cavernous space, originating from the stack of plastic crates. She saw the portable CD player now.
“Shall we, my dear?” he asked, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture.
She had forgotten what an accomplished dancer Pembrook Harris was. He glided effortlessly over the uneven surface, guiding her around the flowstone. The floor was littered with mineral deposits and small craters, with stalagmites in early formation and clumps of silt. More than a half dozen times, Genny stumbled and would have fallen, if not for Pembrook’s tight hold. Her skin crawled at the contact, but still he danced on, as if they were in the finest of halls, serenaded by a grand orchestra.