Chasing Shadows (16 page)

Oddly enough, when the doors were locked and we were all finishing up our shift-end tasks, I found myself wishing that the hours had continued to stretch ahead. Now that the time for action had arrived, I felt my knees grow weak and my nerve began to fail me. It was only the thought of Nadine that gave me enough courage to go on.

The second I'd finished my work, I pretended to call for a drive, said goodnight to everyone, and slipped out the side door, glancing around to see where the truck I was going to need to sneak into was parked.

I saw it right away, in a spot in the empty lot across the road. I tossed my bag in and then crawled up and over the tailgate and into the back, secure that I was hidden well by the fibreglass cap. Even so, I huddled down in a corner, my heart pounding with fear.

I need not have worried. He came along soon afterward, climbed in, started the engine, and drove off. We
hit a few bumps as the truck found potholes in the road, which jarred me and made me rise and then plop back down. I hoped and prayed that it wasn't noticeable up in the front of the truck.

Watching through the open back of the cap, I tried to keep track of where we were turning and what streets we were on. You'd think, having lived in Little River my whole life, that it would have been easy. It wasn't.

For one thing, it was dark, in spite of the streetlights that blinked every so many feet. For another, I wasn't used to seeing things backward, driving around at night in the back of a truck, with a possible kidnapper at the wheel. As unnerved as I was, it's a wonder I could still say with any certainty that I was in my hometown.

Somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that I had invented the whole thing. I think that might be what kept me from leaping out of the truck and taking off running at the first stop sign we came to.

I didn't have to remind myself that it was still possible that Nadine was perfectly all right, that there'd been no crime, and that the worst thing that could happen would be that I'd be discovered and end up having made a big fool of myself.

On the other hand, if I was right and Nadine had indeed been dragged from her apartment in the dead of night, I was putting myself in the greatest danger imaginable. I tried to remember why going to the police had
seemed like such a bad idea, or why I'd thought I could pull this whole thing off.

By the time the truck pulled into a driveway and the headlights shut off, I was a wreck — and it wasn't from the jostling around I'd taken over the rough roads either.

Too late for any of that
, I told myself firmly. Just get inside, take a quick look around, and get back out. Of course, I couldn't do that until after the inhabitants of the house were asleep.

My watch told me I'd been scrunched up in the corner of the truck for nearly an hour when I finally stretched out a bit, moved my limbs enough to get them working properly again, and got out of the vehicle. The last light had gone out in the house about twenty minutes before. All I could hope was that no one was still awake in there.

The driveway was to the left of the house, and there was only one basement window facing that direction. I crouched down and crept over to it, shining my flashlight in through the murky pane.

All I saw was a typical basement room, empty except for a few boxes and an old table stuck in the corner. I clicked my flashlight off and snuck around to the back of the house.

Repeating my exploration with two more windows back there, I discovered a furnace room and another room with gardening supplies stacked along the wall. I
shone the light around in there carefully, looking for a shovel, hoping I wouldn't see one. I didn't.

Heart pounding furiously, I continued around to the other side. I'd seen that a veranda stretched across the front of the house, so I knew that the window I saw there was the last one.

The thing about this window that was different from the others was that it had been closed in with boards. Clicking my flashlight back on, I saw that they were old and grey, weathered from years of exposure to the elements.

I thought briefly about trying to pry them loose with my penknife, though I wasn't sure the little blade was up to the task. It seemed a bit pointless though, since these weren't new boards. Whatever the reason was that they'd been put there, it hadn't occurred in the past few weeks. Probably a broken window from years gone by, I decided.

I did my best to peer in past them anyway, shining my light through the tiny slits between them, and then trying to perform a miracle by bending the light around their white edges at the sides of the windows. It didn't take any time at all to realize I wasn't going to be able to see into that room.

I returned to the backyard, where there was the best cover against anyone who might happen along. Not only was I hidden from the street, but the streetlight
was essentially blocked by the house, so the whole area remained quite dark. A quick check of the time told me that I'd spent about fifteen minutes looking around the outside. I wondered if I was stalling and if, in fact, I even had the necessary daring to go in there.

I also questioned my own judgement one last time, holding a brief debate on whether or not I was creating something that didn't exist. Then a thought came to me. I shone my light around the backyard. It was empty except for a few small bushes that stood here and there in grass that could stand mowing. As I was doing that, an even more important realization hit me. I went back to the boarded window and danced my light over it again, wondering how I'd missed something so important the first time.

I hurried to the back of the house once more, knelt at a window, and reached into my bag. I drew out the glass cutter and suction cup then took a deep breath and tried to steady my nerves.

“Okay,” I said, “it's now or never.”

Just as I was getting started, I realized there was something else I needed to do first. Leaving my bag, I skirted along the driveway, on the other side of the truck, and out to the street. The nearest corner was a few houses away. I tried to look casual as I made my way toward it, but it wasn't easy.

As soon as I got there and read the sign that told me what street I was on, I turned around and hurried back, noting the house number just before I made my way behind it again.

The glass cutter was harder to use than I'd expected. After attaching the suction cup to one of the window panes at the back of the house, I'd sliced in a sort of circular pattern around it, going over and over the line I'd made until my wrist hurt. Even so, the piece of glass didn't come out the way I'd thought it would.

Tense and drenched in sweat, I tugged and pushed on the suction cup a few times, which was when it started to feel as though it might be loosening after all. I kept working at it, jiggling and twisting until suddenly it cracked and pulled away. The chunk of glass attached to the cup wasn't exactly the same as I'd cut — its edges were rough and jagged in places. Still, it was out and that was the main thing.

The window clasp, which I'd observed earlier with my flashlight, was a standard affair, the kind that you turn in a half circle to lock in place. It was a few seconds' effort to reach through the opening I'd just made and unlatch it. Then, holding my breath, as though that would make the whole thing quieter, I pulled up on the window as gently as I could.

It resisted at first, then slowly creaked upward. The opening it made was big enough to crawl through, but barely, and as I lowered myself in backwards, bag in hand, I had a strange feeling that I was trapping myself.

It's going to be a lot harder getting back up there to get out
, I thought as my feet landed on the floor with a soft thud. I wasn't really worried that anyone would hear, since the two stories suggested the bedrooms would be on the second floor, but the thought that leaving might be a bigger challenge than I'd anticipated worried me.

I walked quickly and quietly through the room I was in, which happened to be the one with the garden
supplies, and out into an open area in the centre of the basement. I felt turned around somehow, and it took a few seconds to figure out which side of the house had sported the boarded-up window.

A door stood closed along that wall, with a padlock hanging from a thick metal clasp. As I got closer, I saw that the key was actually sticking out of it, which would have made me smile if I hadn't been so nervous.

Clearly, the reason for the lock was not to prevent someone from going into the room, but to keep someone or something inside from getting out. I turned the key and felt the click as the lock opened then, slid it off the clasp and dropped it into my pocket.

Trembling badly, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my light trained on the floor. Even in the dim light created by the single beam, I saw her immediately.

She lay on a cot, her hands and feet bound and with a strip of cloth gagging her, pulled tightly and tied behind her head. Her eyes were closed and in the pale light she seemed almost transparent — or pale in death. I choked back a sob and stepped closer, swallowing hard in relief as I saw the steady rise and fall of her chest.

“Nadine,” I whispered, touching her as gently as I could. It took a few nudges, each one a bit firmer, before she stirred. When she did, her eyes fluttered open briefly, fell closed again, and then reopened slowly, as though it caused her tremendous effort.

“I'm going to take this off,” I whispered, motioning to her gag. “You have to be quiet, though. Do you understand?”

She inclined her head slightly to show she did and I tugged at the knots, which held firm. Not wanting to waste any more time, I pulled out the little penknife and cut through the cloth. It fell to the side.

“Shelby?” she said, her voice a rasping whistle.

“Yes, it's really me,” I said softly. I could see that she was both confused and disbelieving, unable to grasp the idea that there was actually someone else there with her.

As I spoke, I worked at the knots on the ropes that bound her hands and feet. My knife would have taken forever to cut through them so I figured it would be fastest to undo them, but they were tight and had apparently been tied by someone who knew what they were doing.

“They … got … you … too?” Panic swept over her face.

“No,” I hissed quickly. It wouldn't do to have her cry out in alarm, though by the weakened sound of her voice, she probably couldn't make enough noise to wake someone in the next room. “They don't know I'm here. I'm going to get help.”

“Don't,” she whimpered. “Don't … leave …. me.”

“I won't,” I agreed at once, though every instinct in me screamed to get out. My fingers were sweating
as I finally freed her feet, loosening the rope that was connected to the one that bound her wrists.

I was working on getting her hands free when we heard it, the sound of footfalls on the steps. I thought I would faint from fear as they hurried toward the room where we were. I grabbed my bag and rolled under the cot, knowing full well it was not going to hide me from whoever was coming. My hand snaked inside, searching for the cell phone, but there was no time to make a call.

Too late I realized I should have phoned for help the second I'd found her, instead of trying to get her untied and out of there on my own. Fear had muddied my thinking, and I couldn't even imagine what that mistake might cost us.

The door swung open and light burst into the room.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

Stupidly, I'd squeezed my eyes shut, as though that could block out reality. At Ben's voice, I opened them again and saw him leaning down and looking directly at me.

“You wouldn't listen,” he sighed and shook his head sadly, as though he was explaining something to a small, exasperating child.

“Ben, I …” My words broke off. What was there to say?

“Who is it?” Another voice, sharper, joined us.
Behind Ben, I saw that Lisa had come into the room. She too leaned down; she too saw me.

“Come out from under there,” she commanded angrily.

I was in no position to argue. I crawled out and immediately cried out, “Please don't hurt me! Please don't kill me!”

“Hush, hysterical girl,” Lisa snapped. She took me by the shoulders and shook me.

“I told you,” Ben said, turning to his cousin. “I told you it was a mistake to let her live.” He gestured with perfect indifference toward Nadine. “Now there are two. We can't possibly stick with the original plan.”

“You can't get away with this.” I forced bravado into my voice. “You can't, because, because, well, uh, because the police are on their way.”

“Oh, really?” Ben smirked. “Did you hear, Lisa? The police are coming.”

“They are!” I insisted. “They'll be right here any second now.”

“Then why didn't they come
with
you?”

I wondered how I'd ever thought Ben was a nice fellow. His lip was curled in a sneer that made him both ugly and scary to look at, but it was his eyes that told me what he really was. Cold and hard, they looked at me and somehow looked through me at the same time. I knew he would do
whatever he thought needed to be done, and without a second's compunction.

“The police are so coming!” I said loudly, knowing full well that the lie was obvious in every word I said. “I, I even told them the address.”

“Oh, no, not the address,” Ben scoffed. “Now I'm frightened. Now I really believe that the police are going to drive in any second.”

“I
do
know the address,” I insisted. I knew my voice sounded desperate and pathetic, and that he wasn't buying it. “It's … it's 197 Marswarble Way.”

“Bravo,” Ben said, clapping his hands slowly. “But you're lying. No one is coming.”

“Ben, be quiet. This is a serious problem.” Lisa spoke again, and there was something in her voice that made me look at her closer.