Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  “From the floor?”

  I nodded. “That dirty, disgusting, musty concrete floor.”

  Gabe looked away at that, the muscle along his powerful jaw clenching and unclenching. “Jesus Christ, Shannon,” was all he said. But it was enough. I heard the pain in it, underscoring each syllable. The protector couldn’t protect me from everything. Especially the things that exist in a normal person’s worst nightmare. Those things aren’t supposed to happen in their real life.

  “He fed me through that pipe, too. Just a couple of times.”

  “What did he feed you?”

  My cheeks filled with heat before I answered him. I was ashamed to admit what I’d done, but it was no time for half-truths. Our lives would never be the same again anyway. Might as well build what we could salvage on honesty. “Dog food. Some sort of dry kibble type stuff.”

  Gabe leaned forward on the couch, dropping his head into his hands. I could see his muscles trembling with his efforts not to react. I let him sit in silence for as long as he needed. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to hear, just like I knew it wouldn’t be easy for me to hear the details of what happened while I was gone.

  “Go on,” he finally said.

  “Things went on like that for a while. I don’t really know how long. Long enough to turn me into…someone else. That kind of dark… It’s hard to describe what it does to your mind. I would’ve—” I took a deep breath. Gulped it down as fingers of panic tightened their grip around my rib cage. “I would’ve done anything to get out of there. Or at least I thought I would’ve.”

  Gabe turned to look back at me. “Shannon, you can’t bl—”

  “I’m not done yet. You asked if I got to see where I was. Well, I did. Twice. The first time the lights came on, I got to see…got to see…” I struggled to inhale. To fill my concrete lungs. I sucked air through my pursed lips in great hiccupping gasps. “I got to see Dalton. The lights were so bright in the room where I was, a garage bay I think, but darker where Dalton was. I could…I could see his silhouette. And I… I could hear him. He cried for me. He…he cried for me. Begged. And I couldn’t help him.”

  I remembered thinking at the time it happened that the sound of my son pleading for me would break me. I thought I would never recover. But I realized, sitting there beside my husband, wondering every minute of every day where Dalton was and if he was okay, that what would break me still lay ahead. This wasn’t over. And it might not ever be.

  I broke down into more sobs. Shed an ocean of tears. My husband held me. Cried with me. Sat numbly with me until I could talk again. And when I could, he listened. And he never let me go. He squeezed me tighter at times. His hands shook with fury at times. But never once did he let me go.

  By the time I walked him through my struggle with killing an innocent person, then being shown that it was my best friend, I was exhausted. I could barely stand when he told me it was time for bed. That we would wait and talk more the next day.

  Gabe carried me up the stairs. Laid me on our bed. Crawled in beside me. And we both pretended to sleep. All night long.

  The next day, bright and early, over coffee, Gabe showed me the texts he’d received. They were on several threads. Some even from different numbers. My captor didn’t take any chances. He probably assumed he’d thought of everything. But nobody was that good.

  At least I hoped not.

  “I wonder how long he planned this,” I mused absently. My thumb scrolled through one of the texts. I’d read it a dozen times already.

  “Probably for a while. He did a lot of recon on us, had everything in place and ready to go. Seems like he thought of everything.”

  Something in his tone, the hint of resignation maybe, was like an electric shock to my heart. His words brought back to life something that was slowly dying in me. And I hadn’t even realized it.

  “Nobody thinks of everything.”

  “I can’t think of a beat he missed. Hell, the police can’t even figure out what happened to Lauren and she worked for a big law firm. He’s covered his tracks pretty damn well.”

  “Okay, fine. Say he accounted for every detail. Every last one. There’s one thing he couldn’t have planned for.”

  Gabe sat up a little straighter. Encouragement brightened his eyes. “What?”

  “Us.”

  “Us?”

  “Us. You and me. Dalton’s parents. He didn’t plan for us. He couldn’t have.”

  I saw my husband deflate a little. He was hoping for something more tangible. “No, I think he planned for us, too. Look at what he was able to accomplish without us having any idea.”

  “He knew our routines, our habits, even our weaknesses, but he couldn’t have known us. Wanna know why?”

  The more I talked, the more I listened to what I was saying. The more I listened, the more I heard. I heard the words. I heard what they meant. They spoke in a language far superior to English.

  They spoke in hope.

  And it was potent. Like a drug. Injected directly into my veins.

  “Why?” It was clear he was only humoring me, but that was okay. I would convince him. I had to. For all our sakes.

  “Because he doesn’t know us. He doesn’t know what we have, what our family is like. If he did, he’d have returned our son already. But he hasn’t. That means he can’t possibly know us. He can’t possibly know that keeping our child was the worst mistake of his life. If he knew us, he would’ve known that we would stop at nothing…nothing to get Dalton back.”

  His brow furrowed. “I thought we weren’t going to risk his safety.”

  “We won’t. I would never do that, but there is another way. There has to be. There has to be a way to find him, to catch him, without involving the police.” I turned to Gabe at that point, taking his hands in mine. I held them as if by doing so I could convince him of my seriousness. Convince him of the possibility. Even if both seemed as farfetched as me growing wings and taking flight. “We can do this, Gabe.”

  “I don’t know, babe.”

  “But I do. We will find a way, Gabe. We have to. I can’t… I can’t bear to think of any other option. So we will find a way. We will find a way. If it takes every minute of the rest of my life, I will find my son. I will find him. Do you hear me?”

  My voice had risen. There was a thread of maniacal determination to it. I didn’t care. It was in that moment that I knew: I couldn’t live if I couldn’t find Dalton. He was the reason I’d taken my best friend’s life. He was the reason I kept going when I wanted to give up. He was the reason. Period. I couldn’t stop now. Not until he was home. Not until he was safe.

  “We can’t be impulsive. We have to think this through.”

  “We will. I promise. I would never risk his safety. I hope you know that.”

  “I do. I know that. I just…you’ve been through so much, and we need to take this slow.”

  “I know, I know.” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

  “I didn’t say stupid. I just meant—”

  I spun until I was sitting on the edge of the couch. “Did you search my car? When you brought it back, did you search it?”

  “I went through it, yes, but I didn’t find anything.”

  “That’s okay. But can we look again?” Gabe looked skeptical. Maybe a little insulted, too, so I added, “For my own peace of mind. I need to be doing something, and right now this is all I have.”

  He understood that—the need to keep busy, the need to do something. Anything.

  His features softened. He nodded. Leaned forward. Kissed my lips. Then he took my hand.

  Together, we walked out to the garage. He turned on the bright overhead lights. I popped the trunk. I stared into the yawning abyss for several long minutes before I could bring myself to actually lean in and look inside. I hadn’t thought the trunk ride had traumatized me. I still wasn’t sure it had. Not the trunk, per se. No, it was much more the memory of that feeling—the
feeling that I could be on my way to my death. I felt it as fresh as I had in those moments. It raised the hair on my arms. Prickled the hair on the back of my neck.

  I doubted anyone could understand what a disconcerting, terrifying, confusing feeling that was—to possibly be about to die, and not be convinced that you really even wanted to live. Especially not if it meant living under the torture of my captor.

  Gabe shuffled closer. Put his broad palm on my back. He rubbed big ovals, a silent show of support for whatever I was going through. Gabe was wonderful like that. It had been that way since day one of our relationship. He’d always seemed to know just what I needed, right when I needed it. And at that moment, no words, no advice, no reasoning could’ve helped me. I didn’t think I even wanted to be held. But what I did need was his presence. His strength. His stability. And he gave it. Wholeheartedly and without reservation. Just as he gave his love.

  I took a deep breath. Stepped closer to the car. I could feel the cool metal of the rear fender through my pants. It chilled a band of skin across my thighs. I focused on that for a few seconds. Breathed a handful of times. Bent down. Then I leaned into the trunk.

  I looked around. Studied the brightly lit interior—the dark blue carpeting, the emptiness of it. So different from the one I’d been transported in. I even inhaled. Examined the scent. It smelled vaguely of my favorite perfume with a hint of something else. I could understand the perfume. I transported my luggage and bags and clothing in the trunk often, so that made sense. But the other aroma…I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  I scanned the open space four times. Went over every square inch. First with my eyes. Then with my fingertips. As Gabe said, there was nothing there.

  I swallowed my disappointment. Moved to the front of the car. I opened both doors on that side. Rounded to open both doors on the passenger side. Gabe was standing near the driver’s door. I looked at him over the pale gray roof of the car. We nodded at each other. At the same time, we ducked into our respective sides.

  With him on one side and me on the other, we went through the front seats. Methodically. We opened every compartment. Searched every nook. Checked every cranny. Even the little place under the steering wheel where the fuses were. We felt every crevice, but neither of us turned up anything useful. In fact, the only things we found were three petrified french fries, a straw wrapper, and an orange Tic Tac. My car was cleaner than I’d expected it to be. And clearly I needed to stop eating fast food while I drove.

  Wordlessly, we got out. Slammed the doors. Repeated the process in the back seats.

  Again, we found nothing.

  I let my head fall back against the headrest. “Damn it.”

  “I wish I’d missed something, but…”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, he got me when I was getting my luggage out. There wouldn’t have been any reason for him to be inside it at all.”

  “Except to lock up.”

  “Right. Except for that.”

  I sat there. Stared at the navy material stretched tight across the ceiling. Tried to tamp down my frustration To reign in my hopelessness. Eventually, I had to move. I couldn’t sit in the car, in the garage all day.

  I got out. Shut the door. Walked slowly back to the trunk. When I reached up to close the lid, something light blue, the color of an autumn sky, caught my eye. It was stuck in the latch, as if the trunk had been closed on material. Using my fingernails like tweezers, I pulled out the swatch. Frowned down at it. It didn’t look familiar to me. Not the color, not the texture, not the quality. “What is this?”

  Gabe leaned in close to examine the ragged triangle. “It looks like a piece of a shop towel.”

  “A shop towel? What’s that?”

  “You know those thick paper towel-like things I keep for wiping up oil or grease or whatever in the garage? They’re on cardboard rolls.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know the ones. The ones I use to clean the windshield in the car?”

  “Right. Those. I think this looks like it could be one of them.”

  “Would you have had one near my trunk for any reason?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “So this could be…” I nodded meaningfully at Gabe. He nodded back.

  “Could be.”

  Curious, I brought the piece of towel to my nose and sniffed. It wasn’t strong, but it had an odor of some sort. Maybe a chemical. Maybe even what I was detecting in the trunk. Maybe even what had been used to sedate me during my capture. “Here, smell this.”

  I shoved it under Gabe’s nose and he obliged by inhaling. “Smells like, I don’t know, sort of sweet, but still kind of chemical-ly.”

  “What do you think it is? Have you ever smelled it before?”

  “I think it smells a little like the laughing gas they used on me when I had my wisdom teeth removed.”

  “So maybe something that could knock someone out?”

  “Maybe.”

  Gabe stared down into my eyes. Neither of us moved or spoke for a few breaths. That didn’t mean we weren’t communicating, though. Excitement was rising between us. Around us. Within us.

  “Could this be a clue?”

  “It could be. I don’t know how effective it may be in leading us to the asshole that did this, but at least it’s something. Maybe a start.”

  “So what do we do with it?”

  “Let me get a baggy for it. I can take it to Garrett, see if he can get anything from it.”

  Gabe’s brother, Garrett, was a brilliant forensic scientist. He’d worked in the lab at the Chicago Police Department since he graduated college. If anyone could figure out what they were dealing with, it would be Garrett.

  I felt like we were onto something. Maybe something small, but it was something. And I knew we could both use a little something.

  And something was certainly better than nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Having finally finished packing her overnight bag, Jill zips up the case and they head downstairs to leave. Jill stops in front of the door. “I need to go and make sure the doors are locked. The garage door, the side door. I’ll be right back.”

  On impulse, Marcy stops her. “I’ll get them. You can take a minute to make sure you have all that you need. Be right back.”

  Before Jill can argue, Marcy starts off through the house, thrilled with her ability to think on her feet. She goes first to the door leading in from the garage. It’s already locked, so she heads to the side door. It’s locked as well, but Marcy turns the mechanism to the open position. If ever there will be a good time to snoop through the Halpern residence, this will be it—while neither Jill nor Mark is home—and Marcy just paved the way for John to do it with ease.

  She’s suppressing a satisfied smile as she makes her way back to Jill. “All locked up. You ready?”

  Jill nods. “As ready as I can be, I guess.”

  Marcy grabs her case and exits the house ahead of her, turning only to watch as Jill closes and locks the main door behind them. Neither speaks on the short walk up her driveway, along the sidewalk, or down Marcy’s driveway.

  Marcy walks through the front door to find John on the couch, reading a woodworking magazine. He glances up, stares for a second, and then slowly lowers the magazine. “Hi, Jill.”

  “Hi, John. Sorry to barge in on you.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re always welcome.”

  “That’s exactly what I told her,” Marcy chimes in, closing the door behind them. “She’s going to stay with us for a couple of days.”

  “No problem,” he says, coming to his feet. “What can I do?”

  “Why don’t you carry this upstairs? I want to show her to her room and let her get settled in.”

  “Okay.” He walks over and takes the carry-on case from Marcy. Retracting the telescoping handle, he then hefts it like it weighs nothing. “Ladies first.”

  Marcy starts up the stairs with Jill close behind, John bringing up the rear.
Marcy turns left at the top of the steps and makes her way down the hall. She pauses as she passes Caroline’s room. Marcy’s daughter is sitting on the floor, cross-legged, back to the door, head bowed. Marcy knows she’s likely staring at hands that are folded in her lap. She does it often, like she’s lost in some other world that only Caroline can see. “Did she eat?” Marcy asks John.

  “She did.”

  “Good.” Marcy leans toward the doorway and raises her voice. “Caroline, Miss Jill from next door is going to be spending the night in the guest room. You two can share the bathroom, can’t you?”

  Caroline doesn’t raise her head, but she gets to her feet and walks to the door. She moves awkwardly, as she often does, as though her feet aren’t hers. Like they’re foreign attachments that she still hasn’t grown accustomed to. Marcy notes the shoes she’s wearing—those old sneakers that are probably getting too small. It’s bad enough that she wants to wear shoes in the house, even in her bedroom, but that she insists on those awful things is forever a thorn in Marcy’s side. She doesn’t mention it, though. It won’t do any good. It hasn’t thus far. No reason to think that embarrassing her in front of company will change that.

  Before Jill can even catch up with Marcy, Caroline is reaching for the door and walking it closed. Her head is still bowed. There’s no defiance in the set of her chin or in her eyes, which are still downcast. She just simply closes the door on them. Like they’re intruders into her world.

  Marcy turns a wavering smile to Jill. She didn’t raise Caroline to be rude, but manners have nothing to do with most of the things she does these days. “Sorry. She…she’s not feeling very sociable today.”

  Jill’s eyes are red and watery, like she’s on the verge of tears. No doubt she’s missing and worrying for the safety of her own daughter. “It’s okay. Neither am I.”