Kill Tide

by Timothy Fagan

  Good, good, good!

  Some quick loops of duct tape to bind her arms and legs and an extra strip across her pretty mouth. Then he searched her pockets and took out her phone. Live and learn!

  He tucked her in with a pile of blankets so she wouldn’t be hurt as he drove. She’d be fine until he transferred her to the Heart.

  Then he quickly checked outside through the slit in the paper covering the rear windows. Nobody in sight. No alarm.

  He crawled forward to the front seat. Looked all around for any vehicles or pedestrians. Again, nobody!

  He was getting better at this. Or was having a very lucky day, which was a damn rare thing for him. He usually got the other kind, lately.

  Just in case his luck went sideways again, he took the Walther P22 pistol from his pocket and slipped it into the crack beside his seat. Rolled down his window and chucked the girl’s phone across the road, into the tall grass.

  All set?

  He checked in all directions again. A Toyota Corolla drove toward him, face on. He saw the driver was an impossibly old man in a gray fedora hat, barely tall enough to see over his dashboard.

  The little old man cruised slowly past, never slowing, never turning to look at the van or the man behind the wheel. No problem.

  So it was the little old man’s lucky day, too.

  Moments later, the man in the white van was driving his precious cargo toward safety.

  He still felt tired. He also felt like he was speeding, which he knew would be a boneheaded screwup, what with all the cops out to get him. He looked at his speedometer and he was only going twenty in a what—thirty or thirty-five zone? But it definitely seemed like his van was moving faster than it really was.

  In his side-view mirror, it looked like the car behind him, a little blue thing, was right on his ass. But when he stopped at a red light, the blue car kept driving…it was farther behind than he’d thought. And his hand was trembling something fierce. Well, okay…

  Did he have time to fire up some crank? Clear his head? No, he’d have to wait. There wasn’t a second to lose.

  The man drove carefully, his mind bouncing.

  Both of the girls he’d gathered were named Emma, which would be a minor pain in the ass. Too confusing.

  Emma One and Emma Two? No, that was stupid. Sounded like freaking Dr. Seuss.

  They’d work it out.

  And the two Emmas would probably fight over him a bit. A struggle to be his favorite. Typical. It made him wonder which actually would be his favorite. He smiled.

  He was already developing a thing with Emma Bailey. The way she sassed him back, like a love-hate, opposites-attract thing. He liked her fire.

  As the man approached the last turn before he’d be home free, he saw a police car pulled over at the side of the road.

  Here we go, he thought. The big test. This was it. He’d either sail by like no big deal, or this was the real beginning of the end. He touched his Walther P22 for luck. He hated the idea he’d be outgunned by a cop’s bigger handgun but too late to whine now, huh?

  He hated cops, just like every other part of the authoritarian bureaucracy which had collectively ruined this great country and his damn life. He’d shoot first if necessary. The Walther would be more than fine from close up. And he totally knew he would pull the trigger like…well, just watch him. Cool as a cat.

  He’d done three years the hard way after getting caught for that other felony thing last time. Shorter than his public defender had predicted, but every minute had been miserable and suffocating. Humiliating. Having to deal with all those idiots and animals. Going back to prison for any amount of time was definitely not in the plan.

  Emma Addison would be overdue at work by now. The restaurant manager on duty might have already called her cell phone, which was lying on the grass where he’d grabbed her. The manager would get no freaking answer.

  Then the manager would call Emma’s home because some teens were unreliable. He’d ask her family: was Emma coming to work today? Everyone would realize faster than a lightning bug farts that something was wrong. They’d get hit by the quick, hard panic that comes when something important gets taken from you. The man knew that emotion and planned to never feel it again.

  So, maybe forty-five minutes total until her parents would call 911? Give or take? Possibly the cop wouldn’t have even heard yet that Emma Addison was gone.

  Trust the plan… Trust the man…

  The man drove his van past the cop, slow and steady. Other than his right hand, which started shaking like a motherfucker. Which would be a hell of a problem if he needed to use his pistol.

  But the man saw in his rearview mirror that the cop car stayed put on the side of the road.

  With relief flooding through him like hot water, the man rounded a curve in the road and he lost the cop from view. He made his next right, and for the rest of the drive to safety he followed the same path he’d taken with Emma Bailey.

  Two down…one to go…

  Some people thought he wasn’t too bright because he didn’t have a college degree. How could a piece of paper make you smart? The internet had everything you wanted to know, if you looked in the right places.

  So he was an expert about the New World Order. Knew about their plans to depopulate from seven billion down to five hundred million. Probably by releasing a virus. Who could say for sure? Yep, changes were coming, and his nuts would not get caught in the middle of it. Not him or the girls.

  He was a bit worried about Emma Addison because her family was rich—was she going to act all spoiled? There wasn’t room for any princesses in the new family.

  He had another epic sudden surge of emotion and conviction that it would all work out. They’d be happy together. Like the fires of heaven, filling his heart. All of them would be happy. He suddenly knew it, deep in his gut. Which they had to be… It was the key to the whole thing.

  Because what’s more important than family?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maybe it was the next day. Emma Bailey had no way of knowing. Between the drugs and the darkness of her eye mask, she didn’t have a clue. All she knew was it wasn’t a bad dream. Someone had snatched her. She was in some dark place that her kidnapper put her.

  Emma had spent a long time banging her feet against the metal floor, trying to make as much noise as she could to attract someone’s attention. It’d sounded loud to her. But she didn’t know whether any noise made it through the walls.

  No one had come. Probably no one had heard her. She would try again later…

  Now she focused on the miserable fact that she really, really needed to pee again. She’d wet her jeans a long while ago—during the night? It was wicked uncomfortable sitting there in wet pants like a stupid toddler.

  She heard a metal noise, like a metallic groan, and then the clatter of feet on metal again.

  Had someone found her? Was she saved?

  As her eye mask came off, she realized no. Shrek was back. She recognized his shape from the light of his lantern even before she saw the stupid green rubber face.

  Shrek kneeled at her side. She could see the mask and smell him—a mix of sweat and dirt and something else. He removed the gag from her mouth.

  “Good afternoon, Emma,” the man said, his voice muffled through his lame mask. “Did you sleep okay?”

  She didn’t answer him. She was still super scared. And super furious. But she was also thinking now, something she hadn’t been doing before. Let’s see how he likes the silent treatment, she thought.

  “Less of a potty mouth now you need to use the potty, hey?” Shrek laughed.

  Again, Emma kept her silence.

  “Well, I’ve got a nice surprise for you. Hang on and we’ll get you a bathroom break.” Shrek bent over her, holding the light near her feet, her wrists, and then her waist. Checking she was still completely and hopelessly bound. Which she was.

  “Back in the jiffy,” Shrek said.

  He left th
e lantern on the floor out of reach. Then he shuffled away. She saw him go up a metal ladder and disappear.

  Where was she? In some secret bunker under a house? God, no wonder he didn’t mind when she screamed.

  A few minutes later, she heard a soft thump and then feet down the metal ladder again. Shrek dragged something large across the floor, and as he reached the lantern, she could see it was another girl.

  Oh my God.

  He pulled the new girl to the wall across from Emma. She looked about Emma’s age, probably a little younger. Long blonde hair. She had a cute little diamond stud through her nostril.

  Emma watched Shrek use some kind of plastic strap to bind her ankles and her hands in front of her. Then he took something else which looked like a bicycle chain. He circled it around her waist, twisted it, and then secured it to the wall. Like Emma, the girl wouldn’t be able to move more than a few inches.

  “I’ll introduce you two later when she feels better,” said Shrek. “But now it’s your turn.” He wrapped a longer chain around Emma’s waist and snapped on a lock.

  “Okay, I’m cutting you loose except for this longer chain. You’ll be able to get to that chair to go to the bathroom. This isn’t a chance to do something stupid, unless you want to pee your pants from now on.” Then he cut her ankles and hands free.

  Shit. Emma had a little more room to move, but was otherwise powerless. Shrek had shuffled away toward the ladder, taking the lantern with him. Emma had just enough light to see a metal chair about five feet in the other direction. Her hands and her feet were all pins and needles as blood flowed back into them. She got to her feet despite the sloped metal floor.

  Was she maybe in a buried school bus? She’d read about some crazy person who did that to a bunch of kids years ago. Some other crazy person even built an underground bunker out of a bunch of school buses.

  Was Shrek some kind of end-of-the-world survivalist nutball? Was he planning to repopulate the earth, starting with her and the new girl? Emma shuddered. Not a chance she was going along with that plan!

  Emma carefully shuffled toward the chair and inspected it. It was a metal frame chair with a rough hole cut in the wooden seat and some kind of bucket beneath it. Like redneck camping gear, she thought. But she pulled down her jeans and did what she had to do. It was such a relief!

  As she peed, she ran her hands around the arms and legs of the chair, feeling for anything loose which she could quietly take as a weapon. But she found nothing.

  “Where’s the toilet paper?” she asked when she finally finished.

  Shrek didn’t answer.

  “Seriously? You mastermind these kidnappings but you don’t think to, like, get toilet paper? So you’re a big creep and a big idiot? Congratulations! You obviously thought this thing through as best you could.”

  “Our mistake,” Shrek said. “I’ll get some for later. Now you need to go back to your spot and sit down against the wall again.”

  Emma thought about ways she could resist. She could stay at the toilet chair, refusing to do what he said. Or she could go back to her spot, wait until he got close to bind her up again, and then fucking attack him. Maybe kick him, or punch him in the dumb mask.

  But Shrek was a crapload bigger than her. And she was chained at the waist. It wasn’t like she could surprise him and then make a run for it. Damn!

  She didn’t know what else to do, so she shuffled back to her spot and sat down like he said. She was straight across from the new girl with a foot or two of space between their feet. The girl was slumped against the wall, head to one side, unconscious.

  Shrek kneeled beside her and reattached the shorter bike chain around her waist. Then he zipped together her feet with plastic straps, like cops use when they don’t have handcuffs.

  The man gave her two sandwich rolls with what tasted like turkey and cheese inside. She’d been gluten free since June because of beach season, but she didn’t care about that now. She wolfed down the food. She’d needed to go to the bathroom so bad she hadn’t even realized how hungry she was.

  “If you want something to drink, you need to ask me for it,” said Shrek.

  Asswipe. What was this, some kind of lame psychology trick? “Fine,” she said. “I want something to drink.”

  “Politely.”

  “Please give me some crappy water!”

  He paused, as if he would jerk her around some more, but then handed her a water bottle.

  The water had the same chalky taste as last time. But she kept drinking. What choice did she have?

  “Can I take a little walk? Please?” she asked, wiping her mouth. She needed to figure out where she was and whether there was a way to escape.

  Shrek laughed. “Sorry.”

  But she didn’t give up. “My legs are cramped up,” she lied. “You need to keep me healthy. My parents’ll pay good money to get me back. We aren’t rich, but they’ll try. You need to call them. And for now I need a little exercise. Even murderers on death row get exercise.”

  He didn’t answer. He just kneeled beside her again and zipped a plastic binding on her wrists. She tried to keep her wrists apart a bit, and the binding ended up slightly looser this time. Score one for Emma.

  She could already feel whatever shit he’d put in her water starting to work.

  “Sit tight,” said Shrek. “I’ll introduce you to the new girl when I get back. She’s younger than you, so try to set a good example.” Then he squeezed the corners of her jaw to force her mouth open and fastened her gag back in place. It was cold and plastic and she thought she was going to throw up from the taste.

  She’d been about to tell him to take a walk for her—right in front of a speeding truck. But he left her leaning there against the cold wall, unable to speak or even move much. The eye mask slipped over her eyes and she fell into darkness as Shrek’s feet clattered away.

  Her last drowsy thoughts were: Who was the new girl? Where was this psycho holding them? And please oh please…was anyone coming to save them?

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Sunday morning, Pepper woke up still rattled.

  A second kidnapping. This time in his own town.

  Pepper was humiliated about getting caught snooping around yesterday by his dad, but he still wanted to help. How could he not? He couldn’t just watch the nightmare unfolding around him and ignore it. He couldn’t sit at home. He had to find out how things were going.

  He didn’t put on his cadet uniform. However, he dressed a little better than if he was just going to bum around town for the day. Then he drove to the police station.

  Three TV trucks were out front with a small crowd of civilians. Pepper used his ID to swipe himself in the side door.

  He was walking past the conference room when the door opened and Detective Kevin Sweeney came out. Pepper glanced in and saw his dad and two men in suits that he didn’t recognize.

  His dad glanced out at Pepper, then shut the door without stopping talking.

  Sweeney walked toward the coffee room so Pepper followed him. He found Sweeney sniffing the coffee pot and making a face before pouring himself a cup.

  “Hey, kid,” said Sweeney. The detective was usually friendly to Pepper—he seemed to get a kick out of him.

  “Don’t drink that crap. I’ll make you a fresh pot,” offered Pepper. “You must have had a long night.”

  “A hell of a night,” said Sweeney, sitting at a table, waiting for the coffee to brew. He looked pale and exhausted. “Do you know the new missing girl, Emma Addison?”

  “No.” Pepper had already heard the girl’s name—it was all over the news and the online version of the Boston Herald.

  “She was walking to work. She hostesses at Sandy’s.”

  “Seriously?” asked Pepper. “I ate there two nights ago!” And he faintly remembered a teenage girl at the hostess stand. Blonde hair? Kinda pretty? Maybe with a nose stud?

  “We’ve been going at it all night and we’ve got zip. Thank God the F
BI’s down from Boston.”

  That must have been the two men in the conference room. FBI agents. Just seeing them gave Pepper more hope for Emma Bailey and Emma Addison.

  Sweeney sighed. “They’ve got people who can build a profile of the Snatcher. Try to figure out what makes him tick. What mistakes he might have made…where he’d likely take the girls.”

  “He must know the Lower Cape pretty well to get away clean both times,” offered Pepper.

  “Absolutely. We had everyone out all night, same as the other shops up and down the Cape. Roadblocks everywhere, but nothing. It’s like he just disappears.”

  Sweeney got up and poured the stale coffee down the sink and held out his mug. Pepper carefully poured fresh coffee for him.

  Sergeant Weisner appeared in the doorway. She made a face. “Pepper, what’re you doing here on a Sunday?”

  “Just trying to be helpful.”

  Weisner gave him a look which said good luck with that. “Sweeney, we got another batch of tips for you to look at. All kinds of random crap. The Greenhead Snatcher is planning to escape by boat. The Greenhead Snatcher has a plane. It’s like the public’s gone nuts.”

  “Or they’re all fishing for the reward,” said Sweeney.

  Weisner turned to go, then looked back to Pepper. “You don’t have to go home…but you can’t stay here. Go! I don’t want to see you in this station until Monday morning.” With a final glare, she left them.

  “Thanks for the coffee, kid. And don’t worry about Weisner,” said Sweeney. “The second Emma lives on her street and she’s beyond pissed off. Totally gone. Just stay out of her way and watch us find this bastard. And if Weisner gets to him first? He’ll be begging for a nice safe prison cell.”

  As Pepper climbed into his truck, his phone rang. It was Delaney Lynn.

  She said she was at Sandy’s Seafood Restaurant. She sounded very upset. She said the manager had called in the whole staff for a morning meeting. But the police were there, and they interviewed them each individually. Had anyone suspicious come to the restaurant recently? Did Emma have any stalkers she knew of? Questions like that.