by David Bell
“I’m sorry I pushed your mother-in-law about her dead kid,” he said, his voice lower. “I know it’s a sore spot.”
“Why would you even talk about that?” Angela asked. “The family is still devastated.”
“I get it. Erica told me all about it.”
“Why would she bring it up with you?” Angela asked.
Jake took his eyes off the road and looked over at her. He studied her as though he were making a decision. Then he looked back and said, “It’s part of her life in a way, if it’s part of your husband’s life.”
“I don’t get that. It’s an accident that happened twenty-some years ago to people you don’t really know.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” He cut his eyes at her again. He seemed to be appraising her, testing her. “Clearly Erica thinks your husband is still haunted by it. I guess he wasn’t watching his sister closely enough or something?”
Angela shivered under the gaze, although she doubted he saw it. “It’s a family tragedy.”
Jake nodded as if he understood something. “Right. You’re right.”
“And I want my phone back,” she said. “I want to call Michael and find out where he is. And I want us to go there and find him.”
“That’s back burner,” he said. “Your husband lied to you when you were together. What’s going to change now? And Erica was careless with a child who may be my daughter. Who I consider my daughter. So why talk to them? Why not discover something on our own?”
“What is the deal with Erica, anyway?” Angela asked. “You were with her. Michael was. What gives?”
Jake tapped the steering wheel. Thump-thump-thump. “She was full of life. It’s true. She just brought energy to everything. She can be a little exhausting at times, but when she’s on, when the light is burning bright, she’s beautiful.”
“So it’s all superficial,” Angela said.
“Some of it is, yes. But not all. Look, I’m not trying to get Erica back. I’m trying to get Felicity back. Erica and I, we ran into a problem a little while ago, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about Felicity. She matters to me.”
“What’s that?”
“We ran into each other again, just out of the blue, and we started talking. Catching up. This was at the grocery store, if you can believe that. Very romantic.”
“Go on.”
“When I saw her again, and we talked, I saw that the light she normally had was dimmed just a bit. Sure, age was part of it—some time had passed since we dated the second time—but there was more weighing on her. I could tell being a working single mom was taking a toll. How could it not?”
Angela felt a degree of empathy for her husband’s ex-wife. She tried to think of raising a kid alone while holding down a job. She and Michael struggled to keep their lives on track without a child in the way. “I get it,” she said.
“So I pressed my case. I said I could come back into Felicity’s life, be a father figure again. Pay some support. Help carry the load. But . . .”
“But what?”
“She told me she had it, that she could do it on her own. I think it was just more of that bullshit of her wanting to prove something to the world. Or to your husband. Or maybe she just didn’t want me around. Whatever it was . . . we parted on bad terms that night. And that was when someone called CPS. She managed to blame me for that. I guess because I was there and it was convenient. After that, when I pressed her for more time with Felicity or for a paternity test, she told me no. She didn’t want me to know the answer to that question.”
“So she doesn’t know who the father is,” Angela said.
“Maybe.”
“Or it’s neither one of you.”
Jake looked over at her, his lips pressed into a tight line. Light from the passing cars danced off his eyes. But it was a mere reflection, giving a sense of opacity. She couldn’t tell what he really wanted or thought.
Angela said, “If that paternity test gets taken and you find out Felicity isn’t your kid, then what happens to you? Huh?”
“I’m not stupid. I know that. But I’d rather Felicity be okay. That’s more important than anything right now.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she isn’t okay. Or if I get near the person who did this. Just because I didn’t see her every day doesn’t mean that bond gets broken. I care about her. I do.”
Angela shivered again.
“So no phone?” Angela asked. “And you won’t tell me where we’re going?”
“Not yet.”
The car slowed. In the distance, they could see a stoplight, maybe two hundred feet away, the color changing from green to yellow to red as they approached. A spur went off the highway toward Simka, a path to people and civilization and town. Angela didn’t plan it. She thought perhaps pure survival instinct took over somewhere in her brain or body, the unease drifting toward panic.
Her right hand slid along the inside surface of the door, fumbling for the latch.
chapter
fifty-seven
3:33 A.M.
Hands clutched at Michael’s face.
He tried to push them away, but it felt like there were ten of them. Stabbing, grabbing fingers, working their way around his eyes and then his throat, trying to grab ahold of him. Michael pushed and wriggled, moving his body this way and then that, trying to throw the attacker off him.
The body on top of him felt lean but still strong. He managed to keep the hands away from his throat, managed to push back and keep breathing as adrenaline rushed through his body, lighting up every nerve.
But he couldn’t see a face. Just a tangle of brown hair pressing against his eyes, clouding his vision.
To his left and slightly behind him, he heard Erica let out a shriek of fear. Michael managed to tilt his head ever so slightly in that direction. He saw Erica slumped against the foyer wall, her back near the baseboard, her butt on the floor, her face frightened in a way he had never seen it.
Someone loomed over Erica, another attacker, swinging his fists in a wild, windmilling pattern. Erica cringed, her hands raised to ward off the erratic rain of blows.
“Michael!” she called.
Michael tried to scramble away, to move toward Erica. He reached out, his body too distant to make any difference. And he left himself open to the hands on top of him. Two quick blows landed against the side of his face, making a sharp smacking noise. They stung but inflicted little damage. He pulled his arm back, put it up in defense again.
“This is her,” the other attacker, the one by Erica said, the voice shrill and panicked. “This is for damn sure her.”
As if his attacker were waiting for that confirmation, Michael felt the pressure ease off his body. The blows stopped smashing against him as the person pushed up and away. Michael tried to seize the opportunity, making a grab for the person, but he couldn’t get any real hold.
During the attack, Trixie had remained frozen in place, still in the taut, pointing position she had assumed when she first heard something outside the door. But the movement of Michael’s attacker and the sound of Erica’s voice crying out for help released something in the dog. She started barking, a much harsher sound than before when she came to the door. She bared her teeth, the barks turning into a menacing snarl, and she leaped forward, snapping at the pant leg of the person looming over Erica.
The attacker turned to face Trixie, kicking a leg to brush the dog away.
Michael received his first real look at the attacker’s face. He understood why the weight of the body on top of him had been so light and lean.
A woman, about his age. She wore loose clothes that made her appear larger than she probably was, and her hair was pulled back in a tight, efficient bun, allowing nothing for someone fighting against her to grab onto.
Trixie continued to growl and snap, although it
seemed apparent the dog had no real intention of attacking the intruder. But she provided enough cover for Erica to slip away, so Erica scrambled across the floor closer to Michael, hoping to use him and Trixie for protection.
The woman’s eyes glowed with a bright ferocity. She took a step back, inching away from Trixie but clearly contemplating the best way to continue her attack.
Michael noticed the other attacker, the one who first came through the door after him. When he saw the face, a gasp escaped from his mouth. Not only was the other attacker also a woman, but she appeared to be older, perhaps close to sixty. And a quick examination of their faces told Michael the two women were related, mother and daughter most likely.
They edged together, standing side by side as Trixie growled. Michael and Erica remained on the floor, also side by side, their elbows touching as they came closer to each other for a sense of protection and safety.
The older woman looked every bit as angry and inflamed as her younger counterpart. Michael made a quick scan of their bodies from head to toe, looking for some kind of a weapon. He saw none, which didn’t mean they weren’t carrying something hidden somewhere. But he felt a slight sense of relief, a momentary hope that he could extricate both himself and Erica from the mess they found themselves in.
“Who are you?” Michael asked. “If you want money, I can reach my wallet.”
But the eyes of both women, burning as they were, paid no attention to Michael. They both stared, over Trixie’s gradually relaxing hackles, at Erica. Michael took a quick glance at her where she sat on the floor. Her eyes were open wide, her face showing confusion and fear on top of the crazy grief and emotion of the long day. She’d been awakened out of a sound sleep and plunged into the melee.
The younger of the two women spoke up. “We don’t want money. Or anything like that.”
“What do you want?” Erica asked.
“Just leave. I’m calling the police.” Michael reached into his pocket and found his phone. But before he could dial, the younger woman spoke again, directing her words at Erica.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.
Erica shook her head, eyes still wide. “I don’t know you. I don’t think I know you.”
“You don’t remember the day you stood over the stroller I was pushing? The day you came up to me and asked me about my baby?”
“What is she talking about, Erica?” Michael asked.
But before she could say anything, the older woman stepped forward, her eyes shooting lasers at Erica.
“You took her baby.” She pointed at the younger woman, her daughter. “You’re telling everyone this missing girl is yours, but you know the truth. She belongs to my daughter. You stole her ten years ago.”
chapter
fifty-eight
3:35 A.M.
Randi and Griffin followed Todd Friedman to a short hallway off the living room. If they’d kept walking, they would have ended up in the small kitchen. A light glowed above the sink, revealing a stack of dirty dishes and three empty beer bottles. Something smelled out there as well, something beneath the cigarettes and alcohol. Garbage. Todd Friedman clearly hadn’t been tending to the household very well recently.
Then Griffin saw the object of their quest. A door on the left that Todd reached out for, taking the knob and turning.
“Where does this lead?” Griffin asked, although she suspected.
“The basement,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact.
Griffin felt a new rush of adrenaline. Her palms were wet. “And what do you want to show us down there?”
“You’ll see.” He pulled the door open. Cool air flowed up toward them along with a musty smell that spoke of seeping walls and closed-in spaces.
“I can’t go down there without letting my superiors know where I am,” Griffin said. “They only authorized me to come inside here, to accompany Randi into the main level of the house.”
Todd reached past the door and flipped a switch. Faint light illuminated the stairway beyond. “Well, I’m going down. And Randi’s going with me. If you want to walk out, you can, I guess. But you won’t see what I have down there.”
“Can’t you just tell me?” Griffin asked.
“Yes, Todd,” Randi said, her voice quivering. “Can’t you just tell her? Or me? Why do you have to make this big production out of it?”
“Because I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding,” he said.
“Randi,” Griffin asked, “have you been in the basement before?”
She shook her head. “He moved into this house after we split up. I’ve been on the first floor but never in the basement. I didn’t even know there was anything worth seeing down there.”
“Come on,” Todd said. He looked at Griffin, his face almost bemused, as though something funny had just crossed his mind. “They’re going to want to know what’s down there. And if you miss the chance to see it . . .”
Her mind raced with the possibilities. They unspooled in her brain like a horrible film loop. And over and over again, in the split second she stood there, she saw Felicity in that basement. Was she injured? Tied up? Dead?
If Griffin had the chance to go down there, didn’t she have to take it?
She carried no weapon. No mace, no gun, no blackjack. Todd Friedman was bigger than she was, likely much stronger. And Randi looked like little help.
She’d be on her own. Truly.
But she saw no choice.
“Why don’t you let Randi leave?” Griffin asked. “I’ll go down with you. And I’ll tell my bosses whatever you want me to tell them. But let her go.”
Todd shook his head slowly from side to side. “All of us. Or none of us. And if none of us go . . .”
He left the thought hanging.
“Okay, Todd,” Randi said. “I’ll go.” Her voice became soothing, the kind of tone one used with a scared child or a small animal. It spoke of their familiarity with each other, to Randi’s ability to read the situation and know how to speak to Todd. Griffin felt relieved to have her there, even if it wasn’t entirely safe. Randi knew her ex-husband better than anyone else. “We’ll go. Okay? We’ll all go. Right, Officer?”
Left with no choice, either from her own sense of duty or from her desire to ensure Randi’s safety, Griffin nodded. He answered with a nod of his own and started down the steps.
The narrow wooden staircase squeaked as Todd moved. And the creaking grew louder as first Griffin and then Randi started behind him. Griffin gripped the handrail, felt the smooth surface against her skin. For a moment, she took a look back at Randi. She considered sending the woman away, out of the house to the safety of the police officers outside. But she just as quickly decided against it. She thought the risk of upsetting Todd was too high, and if he had something of great value to show them in the basement—something to do with Felicity or else Felicity herself—then she didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with that discovery.
So they went down the stairs, Griffin’s body between the former couple, a buffer that she hoped offered Randi some measure of comfort.
When they reached the bottom, Todd reached over and flipped another light switch. The fluorescents flickered on overhead, revealing a large, open room, the walls and floor both concrete. Across the way sat a lonely side-by-side washer-dryer, a pile of dirty clothes on top, and on the far wall, directly across from them stood a workbench, stacked with cans of paint and assorted tools.
Griffin scanned the area once and then again, looking for something that would tell her what Todd’s purpose had been in bringing them down there. But she saw nothing. It looked like an ordinary basement. Musty and dim. Functional.
“I don’t see anything, Todd,” she said.
“Over here.” He walked to the right, moving away from the workbench.
Griffin looked behind her onc
e, saw Randi with her arms wrapped around her chest against the cool, stale air. Then Griffin followed, knowing she had no choice but to see everything through.
Todd stopped in front of another door, one Griffin hadn’t noticed when she’d first looked around. It sat recessed into the wall, its finish grainy and dirty. Todd reached into his pocket and brought out a ring of keys. They jangled as he flipped them around, searching for the correct one. They gleamed in the overhead light.
“What’s inside there, Todd?” Griffin asked.
He ignored her. He worked at the lock, his breathing quick, and then she heard the latch click free. Todd pulled the keys out and slid them into his pocket again.
“Is there a girl in there?” Griffin asked.
“Todd?” Randi asked. “Is there?”
He pushed the door open, flipped on the light inside the room, and moved out of their sight.
chapter
fifty-nine
3:36 A.M.
The light changed to green. Angela caught the disappearing flash of red out of the corner of her eye, and as she did, the car rocked ever so slightly as Jake slid his foot off the brake toward the gas.
She knew she had to act in that moment or perhaps never at all. She’d be stuck in the car with the man until he took her . . . where?
She had no idea.
Angela went skydiving once in college with a group of friends. She felt the same trepidation then when she pulled the ripcord, the same tingling, thrilling excitement and fear that the whole thing might not work.
She yanked on the door handle, pulling the silver lever back toward her with as much force as she could muster.
The lever came along perfectly, but the door remained locked. She’d desperately hoped for the telltale clicking noise of the lock coming unlatched, the sound that offered her freedom from Jake and the car.
But nothing.
She knew what it meant. She understood right away what Jake had done.
“Did you think I’d leave the child-safety locks off?” he asked, his voice full of pride. “I don’t want you running out into traffic. In the dark, it would be dangerous.”