Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies, only the slightest of hiccups in her delivery of the lie.

  Jill smiles. It’s not a friendly smile, though. It’s gruesome. Gorgeously gruesome. “Oh, come on. We can be honest with each other now. The cat’s out of the bag.”

  “What cat? I told you I don’t know what you mean.”

  Jill nods, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gun taps the side of her waist as she begins to pace the wire-covered dirt floor. When she begins to speak, it’s as though she’s talking more to herself than to Marcy.

  “How about Gabe then? I mean Mark. Don’t you recognize him either? Were you really fooled by his longish blond hair and colored contacts?”

  “I…I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Still sticking with that? Really?”

  Jill stares long and hard at Marcy. Marcy swallows. “How?”

  Jill smiles. “A visitor’s pass to Tallman. That’s what started it all. Then a busted taillight and a rattling muffler. Any of that sound familiar?”

  Marcy feels the blood leave her face. “It wasn’t me. Whatever you think I—”

  “Don’t bother. I know the truth now. Believe it or not, I thought it was John at first. Right up until the day I came to your house and smelled your special essential oil blend.”

  Marcy’s brow wrinkles. “My oil?”

  “Yes. You see, I’d smelled it before. I just didn’t know it. The first time was when I was still in that godforsaken room. All I could smell for weeks was wet concrete and vomit and my own filth. But one night, my prison door opened. It was the night I saw someone with Dalton.” She pauses, glances up at Marcy and smiles again. “Saw you with Dalton. That night was the first time I’d smelled anything other than the scents in that room. I smelled fresh air. Fresh night air. It was like seeing in color after being blind for a lifetime.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “I could pick out every note in it. After I was released, I thought I’d never be able to enjoy that smell again. Crisp, clean night air with jasmine. And sandalwood. And a hint of lavender. But the thing is, I never did smell it again. Night air didn’t smell quite the same way.” She stops, turns slowly to face Marcy. “Until I met you. Until I smelled your ‘special blend’. I realized in that moment that it wasn’t your husband who’d held me; it was you. It was you who tortured me. You who took my child. You who forced me to…do things. All along, it was you.”

  Marcy’s chest begins to heave as layers of carefully constructed reality start to peel away. The past comes rushing forward in her mind. Like a storm surge, it floods the present, carrying yesterday into today, washing what was into what is.

  “Where’s John?”

  “He isn’t far. Mark has a few questions for him.” Jill pauses and laughs. “I guess I don’t need to call him Mark anymore, do I? I can call him Gabe. Gabe Vogel. And I guess he can call me Shannon.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Watching Marcy’s façade crumble…it’s like watching the head of a FemBot short circuit. Eyes darting, lips twitching, head jerking at every sound of my shoe on the metal wire. It’s intoxicating. More gratifying than I could’ve imagined. And I imagined this moment a lot.

  “Wh-what are you going to do to him?”

  “Well, that’s up to you.”

  “What do you want?”

  I stop. Cock my head. Sigh in exasperation. “Do you really have to ask?” When she only continues staring at me, I spell it out. “I want my son. I want you to tell me where he is.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Cut the shit, Marcy. The jig is up. Don’t confuse my patience with you for weakness. I’m allowing myself to enjoy this. Every second of it. But make no mistake, I have one goal. One single motivation in my life. To get my son back. And, in case you haven’t figured this out by now, I will do whatever it takes to accomplish that.” I take slow, measured steps toward her. My grip is tight on my gun. “I will relocate. I will lie. I will steal. I will kidnap. And believe me, I will hurt you. I will hurt you like you only dreamed of hurting me. If I have to, I will leave only your tongue working, and that just so you can tell me where he is.”

  “Then you might as well kill me, because I’ll never tell you where he is.”

  I straighten. “Ah. So we’re done pretending. Good, good.”

  A shot of adrenaline squirts into my blood. Time to get down to business.

  My senses are razor sharp. My mind as clear as it’s ever been.

  I reach back into my waistband. Take out the Bowie knife that I shoved in there before I got out of the SUV. Wind my fingers around the hilt.

  The feel of blade in one hand, gun in the other is pure exhilaration. I’ve waited so long. So, so long for this. The time when I am free to do whatever I want to the person who abducted my child. Who tortured me. Who turned me into a killer.

  “Tell me where he is and we can be done with this,” I offer, pressing my finger to the point of the knife. Drawing a single drop of blood.

  “I told you I’ll nev—”

  “I know what you said, but I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that there’s nothing that I can do to you to make you talk.”

  “You’ll see soon enough,” she replies calmly, unflinchingly.

  “Okay, so say you’re right. Say that no matter what I do to you, no matter what I slice or stab or cut out, you don’t talk. Say that you really don’t care what happens to you. What about John? Are you willing to be so cavalier when it comes to his welfare?”

  I see the pause. It’s fast. Like a flash of heat lightning way off in a distant sky. Instant even. But I see it.

  “J-John can take care of himself.”

  “Can he? When he’s bound and gagged and at the mercy of my husband? Do you really think he can?”

  Marcy’s chest starts to heave again. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you’re capable of doing what needs to be done in a situation like this. You or your pathetic husband.”

  “No? I admit, I’ve wondered the same thing myself. Day after day, living next door to you people, I dreamed of all the awful, inhumane things I could do to you. But something inside me kept reminding me that I’m not a monster. I might not be able to do them when push comes to shove.”

  “That’s because you’re weak. Only the strong can make things right.”

  I stop. Face her. Look deep into her unhinged eyes. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

  With Dalton’s face in my mind, with my son’s welfare at the absolute center of my being, I strike. Acting only on instinct, visceral, primitive instinct, my arm snaps out. Swipes at Marcy. Makes an arc over her face.

  It happens quick. And feather light.

  A kiss. A sting.

  I hear her gasp. I see her flinch. I see the skin of her cheek open up a millisecond before she raises her bound hands to it. And then, through her quivering fingers, blood.

  “Oh my God, what did you do, you bitch?”

  I smile. “Huh. Look at that. I guess we were both wrong. Seems like I do have what it takes to pull this off. But then again, when someone takes your kid, it kinda brings out the crazy.”

  Surprisingly, it only takes Marcy a handful of seconds to recover. And when she does, she’s out for blood as well. “How do you even know he’s still alive?”

  I can’t stop my reaction. It shudders up all the way from my soul. Gurgles from my lips. “You didn’t kill him.”

  My words don’t sound convincing. Not even to my own ears.

  “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. There’s only one way you’ll ever find out, though, and that’s to let us go.”

  For the first time since Gabe and I devised this plan, I waver. My conviction falters. After seeing John and Marcy together, I was convinced we could use them as leverage against one another. Threaten one to get the other talking. The more I was around them, the more confident I became. It would work. I knew it would work.

  Only now… Now I don
’t feel so sure. The only thing I know without a doubt is that I want my son back. And I’ll do anything, anything to make that happen.

  I take a deep breath. Focus. Hold perfectly still as I wait for my bravado to return.

  I feel it seeping into me. Up from my feet. Steeling my bones. Hardening my will.

  With my eyes on Marcy’s, I take out a small walkie talkie from my front pocket. I press the button on the side. It crackles once before I speak into it.

  “Hurt him.”

  Marcy goes motionless. Stares at me with steadily rounding eyes.

  The line crackles again. “Roger that.” Movement can be heard. Muffled grumbling, no doubt John trying to talk around the gag Gabe said he’d use.

  Seconds pass.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  And then a scream.

  It’s muffled, too, but that doesn’t detract from the pain in it. It vibrates over the air waves. Fills the tiny dirt room with agony.

  “Nooooo!” Marcy yells before she runs at me.

  I’m expecting it, her attack. I knew at some point she would try to fight.

  I sidestep her. Place my gun hand in the center of her back and push. Send her into the wall behind me, head first. When she rights herself and pivots toward me again, she is the thing that will be added to my nightmares. Or maybe to my dreams.

  Marcy’s face is bloody, disfigured. Her eyes are wide, crazy. Her lips are drawn back from her teeth like a feral dog. She might not know it, but she just lost. And I just got my son back.

  “Come at me again and I’ll put this knife tip somewhere not nice,” I warn calmly.

  “I’m gonna kill you, you godd—”

  “Stop embarrassing yourself. You’re not going to do any such thing. The absolute best case scenario is that you’ll tell me what I want to know before your husband is chopped up into tiny pieces.”

  “Your pussy of a husband doesn’t have the guts!”

  “Doesn’t he? You sure you want to make that gamble?” Marcy’s breath is heavy. Labored. She’s making a grunting sound and spit is running from one corner of her mouth. She looks deranged. “Tell me what I want to know or John will die.”

  Marcy raises her bound hands. Curls the fingers into claws. Rakes them through the air as she lets out a hair-raising scream. She wants to dig into me. To tear me apart. But she’s afraid to test me. To push me. She’s afraid for John.

  I jump when a loud pop pop penetrates the dirt walls.

  I spin toward the makeshift door. Gabe and I went over the plan dozens of times. This wasn’t part of it. Something happened. Something bad.

  Something unexpected.

  Marcy starts to chant. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No. No, no, no, no, no. No, no. Oh God. Oh God.” Her hands are shaking violently when she raises them. They dance over her bloodied face. Flutter in her messy hair.

  I’m forced to improvise. “He might not be dead yet, but that sound can’t mean anything good. This might be your last chance to help him, Marcy. Tell me what I want to know.”

  She bends at the waist. Lets out some sort of howling/ laughing/ groaning sound that brings chills to the back of my neck. We may have just severed the last thread that held Marcy’s sanity together.

  “Never,” she sobs. “Never!”

  Anger spikes through me. I stomp over to her. Plant the knife in the side of her thigh. Fist my fingers in her hair. Jerk her head back.

  Her eyes are glassy. Her complexion sweaty. She doesn’t scream, though. Despite the pain she must be feeling. She just stares into my eyes like she wants to burn me alive.

  And she probably does.

  “You know that if John dies, you’ll be leaving me with only one choice. One way to motivate you, right?”

  Marcy starts to shiver. A fine little tremor that works its way through her whole body. And then she starts to laugh. “You mean Caroline?” When I nod, she laughs all the harder. “Go ahead. I’d love to see you do that.”

  Of all the reactions I’d anticipated, this wasn’t on the list anywhere. Marcy loves her daughter. That much has always been clear. I would never hurt a child, but Marcy doesn’t know that. I knew that, as a last resort, I could threaten Caroline and probably get Marcy to do whatever I want.

  Only it’s not working.

  “You’d let me hurt your little girl just to keep my son from me?”

  Her laughter turns to big, breathy guffaws. “I don’t think I have to worry about you hurting her.”

  “You think I won’t do it? You think there is anything a loving mother wouldn’t do to get her child back? I thought you’d be able to understand that at the very least, but it seems you really are nothing more than a disgusting savage.”

  I turn away from her. Pray that she changes her mind. I can’t let her see the fear that’s spreading through my insides. If she won’t tell me where Dalton is, there will be nothing left for me to use against her. Nothing left that she cares about.

  “Why why why don’t you have your nanny hurt her while I listen? That would be a great way to get me to cooperate, don’t you think?”

  I swivel to face Marcy. She doesn’t look distressed or upset or cornered. She looks happy. Almost gleeful.

  “Or or or can’t you reach her through these thick walls? Take me back there. I’ll even watch. I’ll watch as someone puts a knife to Caroline’s throat and cuts her head off. Would you like that? Do you think that might get you what you want?”

  I clamp my lips shut so that my mouth doesn’t drop open in utter confusion. “How could you even…”

  “Or would you rather I do it? Wouldn’t that be a special kind of torture—to watch someone kill their own child?”

  She throws back her head and cackles. A woman gone mad.

  I stare in astonishment. I couldn’t have gauged this—or her—any more incorrectly.

  As the gravity of what’s happening settles down onto my shoulders, I fight to hold onto the hope that this can still work. Somehow, some way. That I haven’t lost my son forever.

  I push that thought aside. I can’t bear to linger over it. Not for one second.

  The walkie crackles again. Gabe’s voice fills the room. “It’s time.”

  It’s time. That’s our signal. Gabe got what we needed.

  My heart swells. Lungs expand. Shoulders lift.

  I breathe.

  And then I exhale.

  I let my head drop. Shoulders slump. Muscles relax. And a single word drips from my lips.

  “Dalton.”

  “You’ll never see him again,” Marcy hisses. “His body might not be dead, but I killed him. You’ll see. I killed him. In the end, I won. I’ll always win.”

  I raise my head. Pin her with a stare. Tilt my head to consider the woman before me.

  “Not this time, Marcy. Not this time.”

  I nod once. Move to the right. Pick up the spotlight.

  I raise my gun. Train it on Marcy. Skirt the edge of the room toward the door. Pull it open.

  “Where are you going?” I step through into the narrow dirt corridor. Set the spotlight down behind me. Marcy takes a step forward. “Where are you going? You can’t leave me in here.”

  I feel my lips curve. One brow shoots up. “Can’t I? Would that be inconsiderate of me?”

  “The police will figure this out. They’ll figure out what you’ve done. Then your precious Dalton will be taken away from you forever.”

  “Will they? Will they really figure it out? Or will they search your house and find menacing letters to Mark Halpern? Will they find an envelope that contains a burner phone and a lock of my son’s hair?”

  Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “But…but I took those from your house.”

  “You did. But they won’t know that. They’ll check the phone. See the texts sent to Mark Halpern’s phone. All with John’s fingerprints. They’ll see the knife with cat blood on it, the imaginary cat I reported someone had killed. They’ll find accelerant, the
same kind that was used to start a fire at the Halpern house. They’ll find it all, but they won’t find you. Because you ran, didn’t you? You fled. You and your husband committed dastardly deeds. You’ll be on wanted lists and suspicious persons lists, but you’ll never be found.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting that you killed someone? If they find what you planted, they’ll find the knife you used to kill your best friend.”

  “They will. But they’ll find it wiped of prints. They’ll assume it was used by one of you.”

  “How did you…?”

  “It’s amazing what a person can find if given an entire night to search a house. And the best part is, you invited me in. You invited me to stay the night with you. Gave me the perfect opportunity to find everything I needed to find. And it was no more secure than in a locked desk drawer, for God’s sake.”

  “They’ll find us. They’ll search until they find us here.”

  “That’s right. Keep telling yourself that. Keep ignoring the fact that you’re trapped in a room, deep under ground that will never be touched. Or walked. Or searched. Eventually, you’ll be forgotten. People will think you disappeared. And the memory of you will be buried. Just like you and John will be.”

  “They’ll find the link to you. Eventually, they’ll figure it out. It’s what they do.”

  “No, they won’t. This land is deeded to a fictional person. Gabe made him up. Just like he made up the Halperns. People who work for the government can do things. All kinds of things. Did I forget to mention that Gabe took a job with the CIA when we moved?” Marcy is trying to put on a brave front, but I can see that reality, the reality Gabe and I created, is knocking on her front door. “Yeah, they’d been trying to recruit him for a while. I guess the timing really worked out well, didn’t it? At least it did for us.”

  “The…the CIA?”

  I nod.

  I watch Marcy’s panic set in.

  “Y-you won’t get away with this.”

  “Won’t I?”

  And then that panic turns to rage.