by Jenna Rae
Back when Del had been a patrol officer and dreamed of moving up to investigation, she’d done a lot of reading. She’d studied weapons, sexuality, finance, sociology, psychology, forensic science, anthropology and more. She had mostly studied death. She’d pored over pictures and descriptions of decomposed and decomposing bodies. She’d haunted the morgue, wanting a firsthand look at the human body after its various experiences. She’d studied what happened to the human body when it was stabbed, beaten, shot, drowned, strangled, raped, smothered, burned, overfed, saturated in drugs and alcohol, exercised or not. She’d also studied abuse of various kinds and read accounts of people who’d survived various tortures, abuse and neglect.
One account had haunted her for years, and she recalled it with disturbing clarity now. It was an interview with a woman who’d survived being locked in an underground cell by a serial rapist. Captured by police, the rapist had for nearly three weeks refused to divulge his victims’ locations. He’d wanted, Del recalled, to negotiate for his own freedom in exchange for the lives of the women he’d left underground. Finally, investigators had managed to track down the victims. Del shuddered. She had imagined, reading the account years ago, that she could hear the broken, halting voice of the lone survivor. She could hear it as clearly now.
“The first three or four days without food were bad,” the anonymous account related. “I thought it was terrible at the time, of course. I thought it hurt, those first few days.”
The interviewer mentioned that the survivor laughed with great mirth and for a long time before continuing.
“It was the fifth day when things truly got terrible. I was cold all the time and my skin hurt. I got all twitchy and my back hurt a lot. I couldn’t move very well after the first week or so. Everything hurt. I had a little water and I tried to make it last. Maybe I should have just drunk it all at once.”
The interviewer asked if the survivor wished she’d died.
“Oh, gosh. Well, some days. I don’t know. I guess not. I was the only one who lived, you know? It seems wrong to wish I died too. I guess.”
The survivor had lost much of her hair. Her fingernails had splintered and peeled. She’d been unable to move and had gone into a dream state, drifting in and out of consciousness.
“The funny thing is that I got all flabby. My skin got loose and kind of wrinkly, and my muscles turned to nothing. But I was still flabby. Weird. In fact, I’ll tell you, I felt fat—how crazy is that? I’d never felt fat before in my life.”
The interviewer noted that the survivor again burst into raucous laughter.
“I kept looking at my stomach. My arms and legs were sticks but I had a flabby gut. I kept thinking how delicious it would be if I could just take one big, juicy bite out of my belly. It looked so good! Like a little pork bun or something. Sometimes I think about that, how I used to wonder what I would taste like. It sounds pretty crazy, I guess, but at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable. Like, it’s flesh and fat, right? What’s a hamburger? What’s a steak? I bet my gut would have tasted pretty good.”
Del had been haunted by that particular image for years, and it was alarmingly vivid now. She could clearly see herself in the young woman’s place, staring down at her tummy, at the little mound of puff around her belly button. It wasn’t hard to imagine seeing that tummy as a thing separate from herself, thinking it would be tasty.
The thing that had to happen was survival. That was all that mattered. Not her pride or her self-image or whatever it was that kept her turning away from Janet and failing to deal with her. Del forced herself to open her eyes and turn around.
“I’m thirsty,” she tried to say, but her voice was gone. Janet seemed to understand, though, and she helped Del sit up and gave her what tasted like sweet tea.
“Thank you,” Del whispered. She was absurdly grateful not to feel thirsty, but she also suddenly felt very hungry. She eagerly slurped Vietnamese porridge—a favorite from when they were together, Del noted vaguely—as Janet fed it to her with soothing words and loving murmurs.
Del was sleepy after eating, but she didn’t feel drugged. Her stomach actually hurt a little from being overfilled, but it felt good.
“Feel better?”
Del nodded.
“I never wanted you to suffer, my darling. Things just took a little longer than I expected. I needed to get things ready for us. You forgive me, don’t you, baby?”
Del nodded again. What did that mean, ‘get things ready’? Ready for what?
“Now I won’t have to leave you alone again, I promise, so you won’t have to worry. I would never let anything bad happen to you. I would never let you starve to death.”
“How did you know—?”
“You talk in your sleep, lover, at least when you’ve had a sedative.” Janet laughed. “You certainly have a busy little mind, Del. You fascinate me, you always have.” She sobered. “But I never meant to scare you.”
“You kidnapped me, Janet.” Del kept her voice low and her expression neutral. “You drugged me, you tied me up.” She lifted her hands and wiggled her arms in the restraints. “You are keeping me here against my will. Maybe you didn’t mean to leave me here alone too long. I get it. But this is hurting me. Don’t you understand that?”
Janet took a long time to answer and Del held her breath. Had she pushed too hard? When Janet finally spoke, her voice was low and pleasant.
“I can see how this looks from your perspective. I just didn’t know how else to help you.” She made a face. “I’m not very good at explaining things, obviously.”
“Do you really think this was the only way to get me to listen?” Del searched Janet’s face.
“Well, kind of.” Janet laughed. “You don’t really listen, you know? I mean you could probably repeat back every word I’ve ever said to you. But you don’t hear what I’m really saying.”
“Try me.”
Janet shook her head. “That’s the thing. You’re entrenched. You—you listen from inside, someplace I can’t reach you. Like you’re behind this wall of superiority and logic and verbal sparring, where nothing I say matters unless it jibes with what you already think.”
“That’s not fair, Janet.”
“No, what’s not fair is that you don’t let yourself be influenced by what I say or think or do. You’re so sure of yourself, your point of view is the only one that counts.”
“No, I—”
“Didn’t you do the same thing to Lola?”
Del let her head, which had been straining up without her noticing, fall back against the stale pillow. Had she done that? She closed her eyes. Maybe she had. She certainly had pushed Lola to do things she hadn’t wanted to. She’d never meant to bully Lola, but maybe she had. Had she done it to Janet? It was harder to know that. She didn’t have as clear a picture of their relationship, just little fragments of memories.
“I never meant to do that.”
Janet’s voice was gentle. “I know. That’s why we’re here. I know you can do better and so can I. You and Lola broke up for a reason, Del. She could never stand up to you like this. She doesn’t have the strength to force you out of your comfort zone. I have the strength and the determination. We’re here to shake things up and start over fresh. It’s the only way we’ll ever make it. And I want us to make it, lover.”
“So do I.”
Janet shook her head. “Not really, not right now. Right now, you’d say anything to get over on me. But at least this way we’ll have a chance.”
“What has to happen before you feel—?”
“Don’t try to work me.” Janet’s voice hardened.
“I’m sorry.” Del felt her stomach muscles tighten. Janet had some kind of plan, but what did it involve? How dangerous was she? Her behavior had always been erratic, at best, but Del would never have anticipated this.
“I’m sorry but it’s the only way. You need to give up control, Del. And this is the only way I can come up with to help you do that.”
Del felt tears leaking down the side of her face and into her hair. “Could I sit up, please?”
“Sure, honey. No problem.”
As Janet helped prop her up with an extra pillow, Del felt the full measure of how helpless she truly was, and she fought the panic that ballooned in her stomach and pushed out all the porridge Janet had so carefully fed her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The coffee was lukewarm by the time Lola turned off the highway and pulled over on a quiet road just north of Placerville. It was a cute little town full of restaurants and shops, a tourist attraction in the middle of a forest, and Lola thought she’d like to visit it sometime.
“If we survive,” she said aloud. She went over her plan once more. She had several miles to drive before she reached Del and Janet, and she could have waited until she was closer to do a final review, but she was too nervous to take any chances. What if Janet had help? What if she had cameras or security people near where she was keeping Del?
There were, as Lola saw it, several scenarios she was likely to encounter. She had a plan for each of those she’d been able to think of, but what if she walked in to find something she hadn’t anticipated? What if she blundered in and made things worse for Del? What if she got Del killed?
“Okay, enough,” Lola whispered to herself. She checked the gun and made sure for the third time that it was loaded. She felt like a kid in a Halloween costume, and she wished she’d practiced wearing the things she’d found in Del’s closet. The thigh holster was clearly adjusted for someone taller than Lola, though she’d jimmied the straps as much as possible. The fanny pack thing fit okay around her waist, but the stun gun and pepper spray were digging into her ribs—Del was obviously longer in the waist than Lola.
“It’s fine,” Lola told herself. “You’ll be standing up, silly.”
She was shaking. Was it fear or adrenaline? She couldn’t have said. Maybe there wasn’t a difference. Maybe the two things were too tied together to tease apart. It didn’t matter, anyway. This was the point at which she either went ahead and did what she’d planned or decided not to. She pulled her cell phone out and called Del, hoping against hope she’d answer.
“Last chance,” Lola croaked. But there was only ringing and then the voice mail prompt. And she’d known that, hadn’t she? She’d known before pulling out the phone that there was no point. It was just a last-ditch effort to avoid what had to be done. Avoiding what had to be done had become Lola’s specialty long ago. Pretending she didn’t know what she needed to do. She started the car and calculated when she’d need to turn off the headlights. Maybe three miles out, she figured. She’d studied the maps and satellite photos well enough to have a good mental picture of what she could expect to see, at least outside.
“She’s still alive. She’s waiting for you to save her,” Lola muttered, as the car’s headlights bored tiny tunnels of light into the dark night. Reluctantly, she turned the headlamps off a few minutes later and turned down the dirt road that led to the back edge of Janet’s—Hannah Jet’s—property. The one advantage Lola had was surprise, and she wasn’t about to squander it by announcing her presence while toodling down the half-mile long driveway. The hilly terrain of the satellite photos had seemed pastoral and safe, but here in the cold and dark of the real world Lola realized how unprepared she really was. The car groaned and squawked and struggled over the rocks and holes and gullies in what was less a dirt road than a long-disused trail. It was easier to imagine gold miners leading overloaded donkeys up this hill than anyone driving a car or even a truck up it.
“Slow down, it’s getting worse.” The last thing Lola needed was for the car to break down. She heard a clanking sound, insanely loud in the nighttime stillness, coming from under the car. She slowed to a crawl but went down into a low spot that made the car groan before it slammed into a huge bump. The car lurched to the side and stopped with an awkward growl. She sat idling for a moment, unsure what to do. The clanking sound had been much louder in her head than outside the car, surely. But what if she was wrong?
“I should have rented a truck,” she muttered. But it was too late for such considerations now, wasn’t it? She couldn’t take the chance Janet would hear the car’s noises, so she turned off the engine. The tiny flashlight Del had insisted on putting on her key ring turned out to be indispensable—Lola was able to do a final equipment check before easing open the car’s door with only a low squeal. The dome light had died many years before, and now she was glad.
She headed up the road. It was a steep hill, and her breathing sounded labored within a few steps. She half expected to hear Orrin’s derisive commentary at her pathetic lack of fitness and finesse, but he was silent. Maybe, Lola thought, letting go of Tami Holden meant letting go of Orrin too.
It took nearly an hour of trudging uphill before Lola reached the giant stump of a storm-split tree that marked the last short leg of her hike. She tried to ignore what felt like a thousand insects batting her face and body. Suddenly, she felt entirely inadequate to the task she’d set before herself.
She was sweating, and her lungs ached from the cold air and exercise. Her legs were shaking and she hadn’t brought any water. She should, she realized, have brought the coffee from the car. But she hadn’t, so she tried to collect spit in her mouth by thinking of water, which didn’t actually help. Her feet hurt. Sneakers were not, it turned out, the best hiking shoes, especially in the rocky, uneven terrain of the foothills. She’d bruised one heel pretty badly halfway up the hill, landing too hard on a shard of something.
None of it mattered. There was a dim yellow light off to the left where Janet and Del were, and the sight of that yellow light made the cold and thirst and bruised heel and the bugs irrelevant. Lola stood by the stump for a minute or two to quiet her breathing and was reminded of the day she stood by Aunt Margie’s front door and waited to quiet her breathing.
Thirty years ago, that was. Lola’s throat closed a bit then. Aunt Margie was probably long dead, wasn’t she? Along with her beloved Mrs. White. Beautiful and cool and sweet, with her soft hands and pink lips and warm eyes. They’d been in love, she’d eventually realized, but too afraid to be open about their relationship. If they hadn’t been stuck in secrecy and shame, would Lola have been able to realize that loving another woman was all right? It was impossible to know.
I hope they were happy. I hope they got to live together somewhere and be happy for a long time.
She and Del had been able to live together, unlike Aunt Margie and Mrs. White. Lola wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of getting married again, but she and Del could build a life together if they didn’t mess it up. Living in the Castro made things easier, of course, but Lola was beginning to realize they could live wherever they wanted, do whatever they wanted, and not have to hide or lie or keep to themselves. She was absurdly grateful for this.
What if we’d been born fifty years earlier, or a hundred?
But they hadn’t been born earlier. They’d been born at exactly the right time to meet each other and fall in love and build a life together, and the only thing getting in their way was their own thinking. All they had to do was figure out themselves and each other and what they wanted their life together to look like, and then they could build it. It seemed so simple suddenly. Walk toward the little porch lamp. Save Del. Rebuild their life together and do a better job this time. Just like that.
It seemed strangely homey, that soft light and its shroud of winged acolytes. Lola found it unnerving, the way the innocuous porch lamp made the whole place seem guiltless. Inside the trailer, there could be a nice little family, the loving parents just putting the kids to bed and chatting about the day. Or it could be an elderly couple, dozing in front of the blaring television and too stubborn to admit they were sleeping and just go to bed. But the image was a lie. There was no happy little family there, no sweet grandparents either. Del was in there being held against her will. She was either drugged or tied up or
both.
All I have to do is rescue her from this madwoman, and then we can start over.
Lola grinned, closing her lips quickly when a large something flew into her front teeth. The bugs up here were monstrous, weren’t they? And as the night grew darker, they were getting thicker.
Well, she thought, what are we waiting for? She crept along, hiding in the shadows and feeling foolish. Was anyone even looking outside?
By the time she got close enough to really worry about being seen, Lola was supercharged with adrenaline. She had to force herself to stop and crouch behind a low shrub. The trailer was, she knew from tax records, fifty-five feet long and twelve feet wide, about the size of a small apartment. The rooms were small, shotgun-style. Janet had bought the place a year earlier, at around the time Lola met Del. She’d had plenty of time to modify the structure as needed. Lola had imagined possibilities like locks on the doors, restraints, a variety of weapons. She didn’t imagine Janet wanting to hurt Del, just control her. But Del’s size and strength meant Janet needed to either drug Del or restrain her at all times.
If Lola managed to surprise Janet and subdue her, she still had to get Del out of there and in to town. Lola’s car might or might not be operational. Janet’s fancy red car was nowhere to be seen. Lola eyed the dark yard. There was something visible just beyond the trailer. A white truck, the one Del had just bought, it looked like. So Lola would need to get the keys to that once she’d subdued Janet. If she managed to do so. She pushed her body up and forward before self-doubt could eat away at her resolve.
She sneaked up to the trailer and peered sideways into the large front window to ensure she couldn’t be spotted from inside. There was no one visible in either the kitchen or the living room, which were mostly bare of furnishings. Clearly, Janet didn’t envision this as a romantic hideaway but as a training camp. This was the place she’d gotten to break Del. That was the plan, wasn’t it? Lola had thought about this for a long time. Orrin broke Lola and it was easy. All he had to do was isolate her, scare her, make her think she was nothing. But Lola was a teenage girl with low self-esteem when Orrin met her. Del was no kid and she had a strong sense of self. She would be hard to break. How long did it take to make someone feel scared and weak and powerless? How long to break Del? If Lola managed to get Del away from Janet, would Del even want to leave?