Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

“I’ll kill you, you bitch!” Marcy rails. “I’ll kill you and everyone you love.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Marcy. You’re going to die screaming. My only regret is that I won’t be here to see it.”

  I smile. Reach for the handle on the door just as she lunges forward.

  I growl. Victorious as I push it shut.

  I snap the lock closed. Lower the metal bar over the brackets. Seal Marcy’s fate.

  I lean back against the door. Let my mind wander to what just happened.

  In my head, it went down differently. As most plans do. In my version of this plan, I got answers. All of them. I found out why she did this. Why she picked me. Why she chose Dalton.

  But reality is something else. Now I’ll never have answers.

  I take a deep breath. Listen to the sounds of Marcy on the other side of the door. Scratching. Clawing. Growling like an animal.

  I know what it feels like to be turned into an animal. And I know who did it.

  I lift my chin. Realize I can live without answers. The only thing I can’t live without is my son.

  Chapter Fifty

  I straighten onto shaky legs. Move through the dark tunnel. Make my way into the light.

  Gabe is waiting for me. Arms open. Face exhausted.

  I drop the light. Drop the gun. Walk to him. Fall against his chest.

  I breathe into his shirt. Close my eyes against all that has happened. Let the tears flow.

  Gabe holds me until I come up for air. Until I raise my eyes to his.

  “John?”

  “He went for the gun.” He shrugs. Nothing he could do.

  My heart taps against my ribs. The most important question. “Dalton?”

  “We have him.”

  I wilt. Melt. Finally bend. “Where?”

  “He’s with Sabrina. I mean Grace.” We’d made ourselves call his sister only by the name Sabrina since we started this ruse. She became Sabrina and her daughter became ours, just for a little while.

  At that I lean away. “Grace?”

  Gabe nods. He isn’t smiling as broadly as I’d like.

  “Why does Grace have him?”

  “He’s…he’s been at their house all along. The Stanleys.”

  “At their house? Right beside us?” Again, he nods. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “But how can that be? How could we not have seen him?” Gabe’s expression is heavy. Bothered.

  Then a thought occurs to me. A terrible thought. Born partially of my own experience.

  I gasp. Cover my mouth with my hands. “Oh Jesus God, did they have him locked up? Did they have him chained? In the attic or something?”

  “No. He wasn’t locked up.”

  I’m relieved. Should be relieved.

  But something isn’t quite right. Still. Something is still off with Gabe.

  I frown. Confused. “Then what? I don’t understand.”

  “They’ve been keeping him with them. Really with them.”

  “Really with them? What does that even mean?” I’m beginning to get aggravated. Frustrated. “Just spell it out, Gabe.”

  “Dalton is… Dalton is Caroline.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Their daughter, Caroline. She’s actually Dalton. Our Dalton.”

  “Oh…oh, God.” My brain can’t process quickly enough. It trips over the facts like deep cracks in a sidewalk. “Are you sure?”

  Gabe nods. Scrubs his hand over his face. Sighs. “When I threatened to hurt Marcy, told John what you’d do to her and why, he talked. Said he’d tell me whatever I wanted if we’d just let her go.”

  “And? What did he say?”

  “They had a daughter. Her name was Caroline. She was killed in a hit and run about a year and a half ago.”

  “Okay. What does that have to do with us?”

  “Do you remember when Lauren said she’d gotten into some trouble? She’d been drinking and tried to drive home. When you asked her about it, she waved you off. Said one of the guys from her law firm was taking care of it. Remember that?”

  I nod. “You think she killed their daughter?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s what they thought.”

  “That’s terrible and all, but why take Dalton? How did we get involved in this?”

  “Evidently, Marcy started following Lauren. Became obsessed with her. She saw her with you at that party you two took Dalton to at that bouncing place. According to John, Dalton looks a lot like Caroline. Blond hair, dark eyes. About the same age her daughter was when she died. Somehow, Marcy started thinking Caroline wasn’t dead, but that you and Lauren had kidnapped her. So, she took her back.”

  “That’s…that’s crazy! I mean… Gabe, that’s insane.”

  He nods. “I know. And John did, too. He swears he didn’t know what she was planning. He said that’s why, when he found out, he returned you.”

  “Me?” I poke my chest. “Me? Why he returned me? He should’ve returned Dalton. I’d rather they have kept me, tortured me, killed me than to take him.” I feel my breath quickening. My pulse rising. “How could they do that to a child? To a little boy? He was innocent. He was innocent!”

  Gabe shakes his head. Thins his lips. His expression tells me he understands the pain I feel for our son. His heart aches for our child every bit as much as mine does.

  Then it hits me. The full impact of what he’s saying.

  “Wait, so you’re saying…” My mind is spinning. Racing. Buzzing. “Oh, God! She said…she said Caroline had autism. Is that how she explained away the fact that he didn’t act like her daughter?” My thoughts ebb and flow. My emotions along with them. “You’re saying they’ve had him next door all this time, trying to brainwash him into thinking he’s Caroline?”

  That’s why I never saw her. Their “daughter” was a closely guarded secret.

  “That’s what it sounds like,” Gabe nods, his expression severe. The weight of my child’s pain, his confusion, his withdrawal crushes me. Staying in his room. Not sleeping well. Not speaking. Afraid of being touched.

  Now I understand what Marcy meant. His body might not be dead, but I killed him. You’ll see. I killed him.

  My stomach swims with nausea. My legs go weak. My vision wavers. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. What did she do to our baby?”

  “We have him back now, Shannon. We can fix this. Grace said he’s just really quiet. Confused. But he’s okay. He’s healthy and…and…he’s okay.”

  “Did he recognize her?”

  “Grace? She isn’t sure.”

  “Isn’t sure? How can she not be sure?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t go into details. We just need to get over there.”

  Gabe drapes his arm over my shoulders. Guides me to the SUV. Helps me inside.

  I watch with dull eyes as he picks up the light I dropped. Grabs my gun. Comes back toward me. His shoulders are broad. Strong. But his eyes tell a different story. When he glances up and meets mine through the windshield, I know he’s as deeply wounded as me. I know that we will repair, we will rebuild, but we will never be the same. Not ever again.

  We are silent on the he drive back to The Coves. Those minutes feel eternal. Agonizing. Unnerving.

  Back at the Halpern house, Gabe pushes the button to open the garage door. Grace’s car is parked inside the third bay. My heart skips a beat.

  He eases to a stop. Shifts into park.

  I fling open the door. Practically fall out of the SUV. Stumble across to the door that leads inside. Lurch through into the kitchen.

  “Dalton?” The word is two quaking syllables. They sound like life. Feel like fear.

  I call again. Stronger. More desperate. “Dalton!”

  I weave through the kitchen. Behind the island. Past the stove. Through the doorway.

  I stop at the edge of the living room. I see them on the sofa. Sabrina, who is actually Grace, sitting with a tiny, frail blond child. Not Cheyenne, her daughter, the one we’ve
been pretending is ours, but Dalton.

  My child.

  My son.

  He’s huddled in the corner, leaning into the cushion. Head bent. Fingers twisted together in his lap.

  His hair is longer. Skin paler. Limbs thinner. But it’s him. I would recognize my baby boy anywhere in the world.

  I fly to him. My feet don’t touch the ground and my heart refuses to beat until I can see his eyes.

  I fall at his feet. Look up into his face. “Dalton? Baby, it’s me. It’s momma.”

  He doesn’t raise his head. Doesn’t move in his seat. Three seconds tick by like three lifetimes.

  And then I hear his sweet, sweet voice. “Momma?”

  “It’s me, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

  I want to reach out. To touch him. To reassure him. But something in me says to wait. Give him time.

  He’s been through hell. At the hands of a lunatic. But he’s with me now. And I can wait. As much as it physically pains me to keep my distance, I will. Because he is my world. I can give him all the time he needs to heal, because I know I’ll never leave his side again.

  Slowly, I stretch out my hand. Rake his bangs back with one finger. Peer into his eyes.

  They’re the same earthy, gorgeous green I remember. Green I could never forget. But they’re deeper now. Darker. Haunted.

  “Look, baby. It’s me. I’m here. I found you, Dalton. Daddy and I found you.”

  Mossy eyes flicker up to mine. Search. Hold on.

  Then they rise beyond my head.

  A hand touches my shoulder. A sniffle reaches my ears.

  “Hey, buddy. Daddy has missed you so much.”

  I reach up. Put my hand on Gabe’s. Feel the emotion swirling through him like an eddy.

  I turn my hand. Grip his fingers. Squeeze. Tell myself everything is going to be all right.

  “We’re here, Dalton. We’re here to take you home, baby. Do you want to go home?”

  Those eyes drift back to mine. Study them. Dive into them. And then he nods.

  I exhale. Let my head fall onto his small knees. Pepper his old sneakers with my tears.

  I feel a hand. Tentative. Hesitant.

  It threads into the hair right behind my ear. Tugs. Just like Dalton used to do when he was a baby. He would fist his tiny fingers in my hair as I nursed him. Then later as I read him stories in his bed. It was our thing. One of many. And he remembers.

  I take Gabe’s hand. Put both of ours over Dalton’s. Raise my eyes to his. “Can I hold you?”

  A pause. Then a nod.

  He unwinds his fingers. Holds out his arms.

  I pull him off the cushion. Into my arms. Against my chest.

  I feel Gabe’s arms come around us both. Like they always used to do.

  I swear to my son, over and over again, that I will never let him go.

  And I won’t.

  Minutes slip by. I don’t want to let go, but the squeeze of Gabe’s fingers tells me we have to.

  I stand up with Dalton in my arms. I look to Grace. Tears are streaming down her face.

  I nod.

  She nods.

  We all head to the garage.

  We don’t pack. Not one single thing.

  I put Dalton in the booster seat built into the SUV. Belt myself in to the seat beside him. Gabe slides behind the wheel. Catches my eye in the rearview.

  He starts the engine.

  Grace starts hers.

  We back out. Wait as she does.

  Gabe hits the door close on the garage. Reverses out of the driveway. Barrels down Larkspur Way. Makes a left. Heads toward interstate.

  Neither of us looks back.

  We are content to leave everything behind. Gabe arranged it all through shell corporations, using cartel money. His new job with the CIA gave him all the tools he needed to bring the Halperns to life. And to make them disappear.

  For me, I want nothing to do with anything from that life. From that house. Nothing in it matters. Every piece of furniture, every item of clothing holds memories of pain and fear and the struggle to hold onto hope. If I could’ve, I’d have buried all of it with Marcy and John.

  Hours later, when Dalton is asleep in his seat beside me, I whisper to Gabe. “Do you think she’ll find her way out?”

  I don’t have to specify to whom I’m referring. Gabe knows.

  “I think she’ll find her way to her husband. Just like we intended.”

  I wonder what she’ll do when she realizes he’s dead. Then I know. “She’ll die there with him.”

  Gabe nods.

  I turn to look out the window. Watch the midnight scenery pass by. Some small part of me feels remorse that I’ve condemned a sick woman to an awful death. But then my eyes drift to my son. To the clothes he’s wearing. Clothes that belong to a dead girl. Clothes he’s wearing because a madwoman stole him from his parents, from his life. And I feel calm. Relieved that I’ll never have to worry about Marcy Stanley again. Never have to look over my shoulder and wonder who might be plotting against to take my child.

  I glance back up at Gabe. “Will you ever go back? Just to be sure?”

  “Maybe one day.”

  “Maybe one day,” I echo. “After she’s dead.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  One hundred and three feet into the side of a hill and down into its center, Marcy claws her way through the last bits of earth until her fingertips feel air. She’d found a weakness in the wire and worked at it until she could pull it back and get to the dirt behind it. She’d dug and dug and dug for days. Until her fingers bled. But now…now she can feel success. Just on the other side.

  She digs harder. Faster. More fervently. Pulling with her hands as the earth crumbles away. When she has a hole big enough to fit through, she squeezes first her shoulders through, then her hips, falling into another room.

  Blindly, she feels her way around the walls, searching for another opening. An exit.

  There is nothing. Nothing but more wire. Wire and dirt. Just like the room she came from.

  She starts to work her way from the wall toward the middle. Like she’d seen Shannon Vogle do during her captivity. Marcy watched her through a tiny infrared camera that she’d hidden near the light in the ceiling of that old storage unit where she’d kept her, starting July second. 7-2. The day she got her Caroline back.

  Marcy had watched her make a starting point and search from there. Marcy will do the same.

  She crawls straight out and then back. Moves five steps. Crawls straight out again and back. Repeats. She does this until she feels something. In a corner.

  A jug of water and a bag of dog food. Just like was left for her on her side.

  She makes a mental note of where it’s located. Goes back to the wall. Starts again. Straight out and back. Straight out and back.

  She touches something toward the far corner. Material of some sort. Maybe denim. She walks her fingers closer. Feels a hem. Then feels something solid.

  Her heart begins to thunder as she touches the leg, the hip, the belly of someone as familiar to her as her own reflection.

  “John?” she whispers.

  No response.

  With shaking fingers she reaches under the edge of his shirt. Searches for skin. Finds it.

  It’s cold. As cold as the earth beneath her.

  Marcy sits back on her heels. Lifts her chin to the ceiling. Screams as loud as she can.

  The sound falls down around her. Dead before it hits the ground.

  Marcy has an alarming thought. One she imagines Shannon Vogle must’ve had at one point.

  I’m going to die in here.

  And no one can hear my screams.

  * * *

  The End

  My sincere thanks

  I want to take a moment to thank you for spending several hours of your valuable time with me, with these characters, in this world. I hope you enjoyed the story and will come back again for a re-read some time. I’d be forever grateful if you’d c
onsider leaving a review. Words—yours, mine, everyone else’s—are incredibly powerful and, for an author, they’re pearls of great price. The lifeblood of what we do. So if you’d take just a minute to jot a few so that someone else might be led to a book they love, I’d be thrilled.

  About the Author

  I love a good mystery, don't you? I've always loved reading them and watching them, trying to figure them out. Now I love crafting them. It's a mind-blowing blessing to be able to do the work that I truly love every day of the week, every week of the year. I'm living proof that dreams DO come true. Here's to chasing them!

  * * *

  Find me at www.authorleahmontgomery.com

  Contact me at authorleahmontg@gmail.com

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  Right Next Door