Scream (18 page)

"Sorry doesn't cover the hole in my heart." She paused, and
he could tell she was crying. It broke his heart. He wanted to
just plead with her.

Please, baby, just accept my apology and forgive me and
let's move on.

He knew what she looked like, hair pulled back in a ponytail,
loose ends clinging to her damp forehead, eyes red, tears wetting
her cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to reach through the
phone and pull her close, stroke her hair, wipe her tears.

"Mark, all I had was your word. You promised me. And my whole life was built around that promise. Then you broke it. Do
you know how that feels?"

He swallowed hard. "No. I don't."

"That's right, you don't. So don't pretend like you do. Look,
I gotta go." Then the phone went dead and Cheryl was gone.
Again.

Mark shut his phone and dropped his head into his hands.
When the sobs came, they came in waves, shaking his body
uncontrollably. It was all he could do. He could never make
Cheryl love him again. She wouldn't; she couldn't trust him.
He'd lost her forever.

The barn seemed to be shrinking, closing in on her.

After being there a week, Amber was getting desperate.
What was judge planning? He'd stopped by yesterday again
and dropped off more food, water, and toiletries, even a hairbrush, deodorant, and toothpaste. No toothbrushes, though,
but fingers did just fine. He seemed to want to keep them alive
and comfortable. But for how long? And why?

Her health was deteriorating. Her sinuses constantly emptied
down the back of her throat and settled deep in her chest, causing
a residual burn every time she coughed. Her throat ached like
an open wound. The sandpaper had turned to shards of glass.
She was alive but anything but comfortable. But still, she was
thankful for the food and blankets. She found it odd that she
could be thankful for anything given the circumstances, but it
was something. A pinprick of light in a dark room.

She leaned against the wall, forehead resting on her hands, and
stared at the outside world. A falcon circled silently overhead,
free to come and go as it pleased. In the distance, along the tree
line, a family of white-tailed deer munched on something, the buck keeping careful watch over his ward. The trees were alive
with color-reds, oranges, and yellows. Peak week. Her muscles
ached to get out and run or hike along some winding trail as it
wove through hills, a ribbon of hard-packed dirt shaded by the
brilliant canopy. Her mind went back to a vacation she'd taken
with her family when she was young. West Virginia in October.
She'd never seen trees clothed in such vibrant colors.

When Judge stopped by yesterday, she tried to strike up a
conversation with him, ask him some questions. She'd read that
in abduction cases it was important to try to humanize yourself
and make a connection with your abductor. Maybe he would
see her as a person, with loved ones and people who cared about
her. But he didn't say a word except to curse at the dogs. Just
dropped the two bags of provisions on the floor and left.

She'd tried to talk to Ginny too. But she wasn't talking
either. When the younger woman had first appeared, Amber
had hoped the two of them could bond, find that solace in
each other that only victims shared. They could be each other's
support, keep each other sane. But Ginny wanted nothing to
do with bonding or solace or support. Whether she was extroverted in the outside world or not was of little value. Here, in
the barn, their wooden prison, she was as introverted as a box
turtle hiding in its shell. Every so often she'd poke her head out
and squint, realize again that nothing had changed and she was
still entombed within the four plank walls, and immediately
retract her head and go on hiding in her shell. A prison within
a prison.

Amber turned and looked at Ginny. She was in the same spot
she'd been an hour ago: hunched in the corner, knees pulled
to her chest, face like stone. A turtle in her shell. She wouldn't
eat, either. Amber had to practically force her to drink some
water; and the only time she changed position or location was to relieve herself in the far corner, or, occasionally, to stand up,
press herself against the wall, and scream for help until her voice
went hoarse. It was a horrible sound, her scream, the sound of
panic and fear and uncertainty balled up into a primal shriek.
When she was either too exhausted or too hoarse to scream
anymore, she'd collapse to her haunches and resume her position in the corner.

At different times, Amber had tried to make conversation
with her. But Ginny only stared that blank stare, her hollow
eyes focused on nothing. The first day, she did talk when judge
showed up. Asked him a string of questions: Why did you bring
me here? Why me? Are you gonna kill me? Where am I? Who
are you? Then, when it became quite apparent that judge wasn't
going to respond, she shot a long line of expletives at him and
cursed him over and over. Other than that, though, she spoke
not a word. But Amber talked to her anyway, held a running
monologue. She figured it would do Ginny good to at least hear
another human's voice, maybe keep her sane a day longer. And
sane was good.

Amber lifted an apple and took a bite of it, letting the juices
fill every cavity in her mouth. She held the meat of the fruit on
her tongue, savoring the sugary sweetness that leached out of
it and teased her taste buds. She marveled that anything could
be enjoyed under these circumstances. But under these circumstances, even the littlest comfort, like the sweats she was wearing
or the brush she ran through her hair this morning, things she
usually took for granted, were a luxury to be enjoyed.

"You know, Ginny," she said, chewing her apple, "in all the
years I've lived around here, I've never spent so much time
admiring the beauty of nature." It seemed an odd thing to say.
How could she be thinking about beauty in a place like this, a
prison, a mausoleum for all she knew. But it was talk, and it was true. She swallowed the apple, forcing it down her raw throat.
She might as well be swallowing glass.

She turned and looked at Ginny, but met only that blank
stare, void of life.

"I've been so busy my whole life with school, friends, parties,
work, and everything else under the sun that I've never stopped
to really admire my surroundings. I know it's weird to be
thinking about that kind of stuff in here, but I've got plenty of
time to think, and a lot's been going through my head."

"I'll never see them again."

Amber snapped her head toward Ginny. She spoke! "What
was that?"

Ginny shifted her eyes, still void but at least moving, and
met Amber's. "I'll never see them again." Her lips barely moved
as she said the words.

Amber walked over to her and knelt in front of her. "Who,
dear?"

Ginny's eyes fell to the floor again. "Anyone. Brandon, my
brothers, my dad... " She coughed up a sob and tears sprang to
her eyes. "My mom. I'll never see them again. I haven't talked
to my parents in a couple weeks. They've been on vacation."
She looked at Amber, tears coursing down her cheeks, leaving
trails in the dirt. "Do you think they miss me yet? Even know
I'm gone?"

Amber ran a hand over Ginny's head, smoothing her hair.
"Oh, honey, of course they do. They probably have the police
looking for us right now. They'll find us. Don't worry." She
cupped Ginny's face in her hands. "Look, we gotta stay positive, OK? We're in this together and we're gonna get out of it
together. And we will get out. I promise."

"I want to kill him."

A chill spread over Amber's head and arms. She knew Ginny was talking about Judge. She felt the same way, but for some
reason she hadn't the gumption to actually form the thought
yet, let alone verbalize it. "I know." She stroked Ginny's hair
again, tears coming to her own eyes now. "I know."

Sheriff Wiley Hickock had just returned to his car from issuing
a citation to some moron doing seventy in a forty-five when Jess
came over the radio.

"Yeah, Jess. Go ahead."

"You'll never believe this. We got another missing person.
A Virginia Grisham. Last seen Thursday night, leaving work.
Just For You Salon, off National Highway, near Red Hill. A
co-worker said they locked the place up, got in their cars, and
left. Said Grisham said she was going home to watch a movie.
Her boyfriend called us about it. Said they were supposed to
get together on Friday after her shift, and she never showed.
They've only been dating a couple weeks, so he didn't press the
issue, but then he tried calling her Saturday morning and again
in the afternoon and there was no answer either time. Tried
again to call her at work, but they said she hadn't shown up for
two days in a row. The boyfriend got worried, so he called us.
Said it wasn't like her to just up and disappear. Co-workers said
the same thing. I'm heading over to her house now if you want
to meet me there."

Wiley laid his head back against the seat's headrest, shut his
eyes, and sighed. "Did you take my advice?"

"About what?"

"Getting a life."

"Sir, Virginia Grisham. Can you meet me at her house?"

Wiley lifted a hand to his mustache. "Yeah, sure. Where is
it?" He hated missing person cases. Jess's personal life, or lack of one, was much more interesting. But probably not much
more promising.

"42 Broad Court, near Homewood."

"OK. I know the area. Nice neighborhood. I'll be there in
fifteen."

Pulling up along the curb in front of Grisham's house, Wiley
killed the engine and climbed out of his cruiser. Jess's car was
parked in the driveway and behind it, a white van with Ned
Tatum, Locksmith stenciled on the side and Ned himself,
wearing his trademark white long-sleeve T-shirt, tan overalls,
and small oval spectacles, strolling down the sidewalk, toting a
small gray tool box.

"Afternoon, sheriff," Ned said, tipping his baseball cap.

"Afternoon, Ned. Thanks for stopping by on a Sunday. Everything open up OK?"

"Piece a cake."

Ned climbed into his van, and Wiley turned back toward the
house, a nice brick rancher sitting on a wooded lot. Jess met
him at the door.

"Good thing we got old Ned to call on, huh?"

"Yeah. Ned's a good man." Wiley turned and nodded his
chin toward the silver Ford Focus parked in the driveway in
front of Jess's cruiser. "That her car?"

"Sure is. I checked the perimeter of the house while I was
waiting for Ned. No forced entry anywhere. Why don't you look
around and I'll go see if the neighbors saw or heard anything."

Wiley rested his hands on his hips and surveyed the neighborhood. A similar rancher sat to the left, no more than a hundred
feet away, with a good view of the whole property, and a twostory colonial was to the right, but a row of Rose of Sharon
blocked a clear view. Maybe from the second-story windows,
though. "OK. Yeah. Do that. I'll check the place out."

Jess headed toward the rancher, and Wiley stepped inside the
house. It smelled of rotten garbage and some kind of apple spice
scent. Nothing looked disturbed, though. He walked through
the house, checking each room for any sign of an intruder.
Grisham was a neat freak. Or she was never home. The place
looked like it had just been scrubbed and tidied, vacuumed and
organized. Nothing was out of place. In the spare bedroom,
which she apparently used as an office, papers were arranged on
the desk in two neat piles: bills to be paid and papers to be filed.
The bathroom sparkled like it had been waxed and polished.
Not even a hint of mildew. No hair in the drain. No toothpaste
on the mirror. Two towels hung from a wooden towel rack,
equally spaced, mirror images of one another. He entered the
master bedroom. It looked like a hotel room before the bed is
slept in and the room is cluttered with dirty clothes and useless
souvenirs. On a small dark-wood table beside the bed, the light
on the answering machine blinked. Eight messages.