The Obsession (3 page)

Slowly, she lifted the door, looked down into the dark.

She swallowed hard, took the little flashlight out of her pocket, and, using its narrow beam, made her way down the ladder.

She had a sudden fear of her father’s face appearing in the opening. That wild and terrible look on his face. And that door slamming shut, closing her in. She nearly scrambled back up again, but she heard the whimper.

She froze on the ladder.

An animal was down here. Why would her daddy have an animal down . . . A puppy? Was that her birthday surprise? The puppy she’d
always wanted but wasn’t allowed to have. Even Mason couldn’t beg them a puppy.

Tears stung her eyes as she dropped down to the dirt floor. She’d have to pray for forgiveness for the awful thoughts—thoughts were a sin as much as deeds—she’d had about her father.

She swung her light around, her heart full of wonder and joy—the last she would feel for far too long. But where she imagined a puppy whimpering in his crate was a woman.

Her eyes were wide and shined like glass as tears streamed from them. She made terrible noises against the tape over her mouth. Scrapes and bruises left raw marks on her face and her throat.

She wasn’t wearing any clothes, nothing at all, but didn’t try to cover herself.

Couldn’t, couldn’t cover herself. Her hands were tied with rope—bloodied from the raw wounds on her wrists—and the rope was tied to a metal post behind the old mattress she lay on. Her legs were tied, too, at the ankles and spread wide.

Those terrible sounds kept coming, pounded on the ears, roiled in the belly.

As in a dream, Naomi moved forward. There was a roaring in her ears now, as if she’d gone under the water too long, couldn’t get back to the surface. Her mouth was so dry, the words scraped her throat.

“Don’t yell. You can’t yell, okay? He might hear and come back. Okay?”

The woman nodded, and her swollen eyes pleaded.

Naomi worked her fingernails under the edge of the tape. “You have to be quiet,” she said, whispering as her fingers trembled. “Please be quiet.” And pulled the tape away.

It made an awful sound, left a raw, red mark, but the woman didn’t yell.

“Please.” Her voice sounded like a rusty hinge. “Please help me. Please, don’t leave me here.”

“You have to get away. You have to run.” Naomi looked back toward the cellar door. What if he came back? Oh God, what if the wild man who looked like her father came back?

She tried to untie the rope, but the knots were too tight. She rubbed her fingers raw in frustration, then turned away, using her little light.

She saw a bottle of liquor—forbidden by her father’s law in their house—and more rope, coiled and waiting. An old blanket, a lantern. Magazines with naked women on the covers, a camera, and oh no, no, no, photographs of women taped to the walls. Like this woman, naked and tied up and bloody and afraid.

And women who stared out with dead eyes.

An old chair, cans and jars of food on a shelf nailed to the wall. A heap of rags—no, clothes, torn clothes—and the stains on them were blood.

She could smell the blood.

And there were knives. So many knives.

Closing her mind, just closing her mind to everything else, Naomi grabbed one of the knives, began to saw at the knot.

“You have to stay quiet, stay quiet.”

She nicked flesh, but the woman didn’t cry out.

“Hurry, please hurry. Please, please.” She bit back a moan when her arms were free, and those arms shook as she tried to lower them. “It hurts. Oh God, God, it hurts.”

“Don’t think about it, just don’t think about it. It hurts more when you do.” It hurt, yes, it hurt to think. So she wouldn’t think of the blood, the pictures, the heap of torn and terrible clothes.

Naomi went to work on one of the ankle ropes. “What’s your name?”

“I— Ashley. I’m Ashley. Who is he? Where is he?”

Couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t think it. “He’s home now. The storm’s come. Can you hear it?”

She was home, too, Naomi told herself as she cut the other rope. Home in bed, and this was all a bad dream. There was no old root cellar that smelled of musk and pee and worse, no woman, no wild man. She would wake in her own bed, and the storm would have cooled everything.

Everything would be clean and cool when she woke.

“You have to get up, get out. You have to run.”

Run, run, run, into the dark, run away. Then this will never have happened.

Sweat rolling down her battered face, Ashley tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. She fell to the dirt floor, her breath wheezing. “I can’t walk yet—my legs. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You have to help me. Please, help me get out of here.”

“Your legs are asleep, that’s all.” Naomi grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around Ashley’s shoulders. “You have to try to get up.”

Working together, they managed to get Ashley to her feet. “Lean on me. I’m going to push you up the ladder, but you have to try to climb. You have to try.”

“I can do it. I can do it.”

Rain whipped in on the slow, sweaty climb up, and twice on that short journey, Ashley nearly slipped. Naomi’s muscles twanged from the strain of holding the weight, of pushing. But on a last sobbing grunt, Ashley dragged herself out, lay panting on the ground.

“You have to run.”

“I don’t know where I am. I’m sorry. I don’t know how long I’ve been down there. A day, two. I haven’t had any food, any water since he . . . I’m hurt.”

Tears streamed, but she didn’t sob, just stared at Naomi through the flood of them. “He . . . he raped me, and he choked me, and he cut me and hit me. My ankle. Something’s wrong with it. I can’t run on it. Can you get me out of here? To the police?”

Rain pounded, and the lightning lit the sky like morning.

But Naomi didn’t wake.

“Wait a minute.”

“Don’t go back in there!”

“Just wait.”

She scrambled down, into the terrible place, and picked up the knife. Some of the blood on it wasn’t fresh, wasn’t from the nicks. No, some was old and dry, and from more than nicks.

And though it sickened her, she pawed through the heap of clothes and found a tattered shirt, a torn pair of shorts.

She took them with her as she climbed back out. Seeing them, Ashley nodded.

“Okay. You’re smart.”

“I didn’t see shoes, but it’ll be easier for you with the shirt and shorts. They’re torn, but—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ashley bit down hard as Naomi helped her into the shorts, as she carefully lifted Ashley’s arms into the shirt.

Naomi paused when she saw that the movement opened thin slices on Ashley’s torso, saw fresh red blood seeping.

“You have to lean on me.” Because Ashley shivered, Naomi wrapped the blanket over her shoulders again.

Just do,
she told herself.
Don’t think, just do.

“You have to walk even if it hurts. We’ll look for a good thick stick, but we have to go. I don’t know what time it is, but they’ll look for me in the morning. We have to get to the road. It’s more than a mile into town after that. You have to walk.”

“I’ll crawl if I have to.”

She got to her knees, levered herself up with Naomi’s help. It was slow, and Naomi knew from Ashley’s labored breathing that it was painful. She found a downed branch, and that helped a little, only a little, as the trail went to mud in the storm.

They crossed the creek—running fast now, from the rain—and kept going.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Naomi.”

“That’s a nice name. Naomi, I have to stop for a minute.”

“Okay, but just for a minute.”

Ashley braced against a tree, breathing hard, leaning heavily on the broken branch while sweat and rain ran down her face. “Is that a dog? I hear a dog barking.”

“It’s probably King. The Hardy place is right over that way.”

“Can we go there? We can call the police, get help.”

“It’s too close.” Mr. Hardy was a deacon at church with her father. He’d call her father before he called the police.

“Too close? It feels like we’ve walked miles.”

“Not even one.”

“Okay.” Ashley closed her eyes a moment, bit down on her lip. “Okay. Do you know the man? The one who took me, the one who hurt me?”

“Yes.”

“You know his name, where they can find him.”

“Yes. We have to keep going now. We have to keep going.”

“Tell me his name.” Wincing, Ashley pushed off the tree, began her hobbling walk. “It’ll keep me going to know it.”

“His name is Thomas Bowes. Thomas David Bowes.”

“Thomas David Bowes. How old are you?”

“Eleven. I’m going to be twelve on Monday.”

“Happy birthday. You’re really smart and strong and brave. You saved my life, Naomi. You saved a life before your twelfth birthday. Don’t ever forget it.”

“I won’t. I won’t forget. The storm’s passing.”

She kept to the woods. It took longer that way than it would have if she’d gone out to the road. But she knew fear now, and kept to the woods until the edge of the little town of Pine Meadows.

She went to school there, and to church, and her mother shopped in the market. She’d never been inside the sheriff’s office, but she knew where it was.

As dawn lightened the sky to the east, and the first light glimmered on puddles, she walked past the church, over the narrow bridge that arched over the narrow stream. Her flip-flops made soggy flaps on the street, and Ashley limped, the branch clomping, her breath a raw pant with each step.

“What town is this?”

“It’s Pine Meadows.”

“Where? I was in Morgantown. I go to college at WVU.”

“It’s about twelve miles from here.”

“I was training. Running. I’m a long-distance runner, believe it or not. And I was training like I do every morning. He was parked on the side of the road with the hood up, like he’d had a breakdown. I had to slow a little, and he grabbed me. He hit me with something. And I woke up in that place. I’m going to have to stop again.”

No, no, no stopping. No thinking. Just doing.

“We’re almost there. See, right down the road, that white house—see the sign out front?”

“Pine Meadows Sheriff’s Department. Oh thank God. Oh thank God.” Ashley began to weep then, racking sobs that shook them both as Naomi tightened her arm around Ashley’s waist, took more weight, and trudged the rest of the way.

“We’re safe now. We’re safe.”

When Ashley collapsed on the narrow porch, Naomi wrapped the blanket closer around her, then knocked hard on the door.

“Is someone going to be there? I didn’t think. It’s so early.”

“I don’t know.” But Naomi knocked again.

When the door opened, Naomi had a vague recognition of the young face, the tousled hair.

“What’s all this?” he began, and then his sleepy eyes shifted by her, landed on Ashley. “Well, Jesus.”

He shot the door open, jumped out to crouch beside her. “I’m going to get you inside.”

“Help. Help us.”

“You’re all right. You’re going to be all right.”

He looked scrawny to Naomi’s eyes, but he hefted Ashley like she was nothing—and flushed a bit when the blanket slipped and the torn shirt exposed most of her left breast.

“Honey,” he said to Naomi, “hold the door open now. Y’all have an accident?”

“No,” Naomi said. She held the door open, had one instant to think whether she should run away, just run, or go inside.

She went inside.

“I’m going to set you down right here. All right now?” His eyes studied the bruising on Ashley’s throat, and knowledge came into them. “Sweetheart, you see that water fountain over there. How about you get—What’s your name now?”

“Ashley. Ashley McLean.”

“You get Ashley some water, would you?”

He turned as he spoke, then spotted the knife Naomi held at her side. In that same easy tone, he said, “Why don’t you give that to me, all right? There you go.”

He took the knife from Naomi’s limp hand, set it up on a shelf out of reach.

“I need to make some calls, and one to the doctor who’ll come and examine you. But we’re going to have to take some pictures. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m calling the sheriff in, and there’ll be questions. You up to that?”

“Yes.”

“All right now. Drink a little water. That’s a good girl,” he said to Naomi, running a gentle hand over her wet hair as she brought the paper cup to Ashley.

He grabbed a phone from a desk, punched in numbers.

“Sheriff, it’s Wayne. Yeah, I know what time it is. We got a woman here who’s hurt. No, sir, not an accident. She’s been assaulted, and she’s going to need a full exam.” He turned away, spoke quietly, but Naomi heard the words
rape kit
.

“Kid brought her in. I think it’s Tom and Sue Bowes’s girl.”

Ashley lowered the cup, stared into Naomi’s eyes. “Bowes.”

“Yes. I’m Naomi Bowes. You need to drink.”

“So do you, baby.” But Ashley set the cup aside and drew Naomi to her. “So do you.”

When she broke, when everything finally broke inside her, Naomi laid her head on Ashley’s shoulder and wept.

Ashley met Wayne’s eyes over Naomi’s head. “It was her father who did this to me. It was Thomas David Bowes who did this. And it was Naomi who saved me.”

Wayne let out a breath. “Sheriff, you better get in here right quick.”

W
hen the sheriff came, Wayne took Naomi into another room, bought her a candy bar and a Coke. She’d never been allowed such indulgences, but she didn’t argue it. He got a first-aid kit and began to doctor the cuts and scratches she hadn’t realized she’d inflicted on herself on that long hike through the woods.

He smelled of Juicy Fruit gum—she saw the yellow pack of it sticking out of his breast pocket.

And she would always, from that morning on, associate the gum with simple kindness.

“Honey, you got a favorite teacher?”

“Um. I don’t know. I guess Miss Blachard maybe.”

“If you want, I could call her, ask her to come in, be with you.”

“No. No, that’s okay. She’s going to know. Everybody’s going to know.” It made her chest hurt, so she looked away. “But I don’t want to be there when they do.”

“All right. We got a nice nurse coming in to be with Ashley, to go with her when she goes to the hospital. Do you want somebody like that? Maybe who doesn’t know you.”

“I don’t want anybody. What’s going to happen?”

“Well, the sheriff’s talking to Ashley right now for a little bit, and then they’ll take her into the hospital in Morgantown and fix her up.”

“She hurt her ankle.”

“They’ll fix it, don’t you worry. You want a different kind of candy bar?”

Naomi looked down at the Snickers she hadn’t opened. “No, sir. I just never had candy first thing in the morning.”

“How about Easter?” Smiling, he put a Band-Aid on a small, deep scratch.

“That’s a holy day. It’s for praying, not for candy rabbits.”

Even as she echoed her father’s words, she saw the pity in the deputy’s eyes. But he only patted her legs. “Well. We’ll get you a hot breakfast soon as we can. You be all right here for just a minute?”

“Am I under arrest?”

Not pity now, but that Juicy Fruit kindness again as he laid a hand on her cheek, gentle as a mother. “For what, honey?”

“I don’t know. You’re going to arrest my daddy.”

“Don’t you worry about that right now.”

“I saw him. I saw him when he came out of that cellar in the woods, and he looked wrong. I was afraid.”

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“What about my mama, and my brother?”

“They’re going to be fine.” He glanced over as the door opened. She knew Miss Lettie—she went to their church. But she’d forgotten she worked in the sheriff’s office.

Lettie Harbough came in with a red tote bag, and a sad smile on her plump face.

“Hey there, Naomi. I got some dry clothes for you here. They’re my girl’s, and she’s not as tall as you, and not so slim, but they’ll be clean and dry.”

“Thank you, Miss Lettie.”

“You’re more than welcome. Wayne, the sheriff wants you. Naomi and I’ll be fine. You can change right out in the washroom, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The clothes were too big, but there was a belt so she could cinch the jeans.

When she came out Lettie sat at the tiny table sipping coffee out of a big blue mug. “I’ve got a brush here. Would it be all right if I brushed your hair out? You got it all tangled.”

“Thank you.”

Naomi made herself sit, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched. Still, after the first few strokes of the brush, she relaxed.

“Such pretty hair.”

“It’s dishwater.”

“No, indeed. It’s like deer hide, all the tones of blonde mixed up, and all sun-streaked now from summer. Nice and thick, too. I’m going to ask you a couple of things, maybe hard things, sweetie. But they’re important things.”

“Where’s Ashley?”

“They’re taking her to the hospital now. She asked after you, asked if we could bring you in to see her. Would you want to?”

“Yes, ma’am. Please, I want to.”

“All right. But now, I have to ask you if your father ever hurt you. I know that’s a hard thing to ask.”

“He’s never laid a hand on me or Mason. My mama gives out the hidings if we need it, and they don’t count for much. She doesn’t have the heart for a real hiding, so we pretend, all three of us. Because Daddy says, ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child.’”

“I never liked that one myself. The harder one is asking if he ever touched you in a bad sort of way.”

Naomi stared straight ahead while Lettie ran the brush through her hair. “You mean like he did to Ashley. He raped her. I know what rape is, ma’am. They raped the Sabine women in the Bible. He never did that to me. He never touched me wrong.”

“All right, then. Did he ever hurt your mama?”

“I don’t think so. Sometimes . . .”

“It’s all right.” In practiced moves, Lettie used a little band to pull Naomi’s hair back into a tail. “All you have to do is tell me the truth.”

“Sometimes he looked like maybe he wanted to hurt her, but he didn’t. If he got really mad, he’d just go off for a day or two. Cooling off, Mama said. A man needs to cool off on his own time. She didn’t know, Miss Lettie. Mama didn’t know he hurt people, or she’d have been afraid. More afraid.”

“People?”

When Lettie came back around to sit again, Naomi stared straight ahead. “Ashley said she thought she’d been down there for a day or two. There was more rope down there, and pictures. There were pictures on the wall of other women, tied up like she was. Worse than she was. I think some of them were dead. I think they were dead. I’m going to be sick.”

Lettie tended to her, holding her hair back as she hugged the toilet, bathing her face with a cool cloth when she was done.

She gave Naomi something minty to rinse out her mouth, brushed a kiss over her forehead.

“You’ve had enough. Maybe you want to rest awhile.”

“I can’t go home, can I?”

“Not right now, I’m sorry, honey. But I can take you to my house, and you can use the guest bed, try to sleep.”

“Can I just stay here until Mama and Mason come?”

“If that’s what you want. How about I get you some toast, we see how that settles. You save that Snickers bar for later.”

“Thank you.”

Lettie rose. “What you did, Naomi? It was right. And more, it was brave. I’m awful proud of you. I’m only going to be a couple minutes. How about some tea with honey to go with the toast?”

“That’d be nice, thank you.”

Alone, Naomi laid her head on the table, but she couldn’t rest. She sipped at the Coke, but it was too sweet. She wanted water—just cold and clear. She thought of the water fountain, rose.

She stepped outside the little room, started to call out, ask if it was all right.

She saw the deputy hauling her father across the room toward a big metal door. His hands were in cuffs behind his back; a raw bruise bloomed on his right cheek.

He didn’t look wild now, or upset or sorry. He had a sneer on his face—the sort he got when somebody said maybe he was wrong about something.

He saw her—and she braced for his fury, his hate, his wrath.

All she got was an instant of indifference before he walked to the metal door, and through. And away.

The room was crowded with people, noise, and something that sparked darkly on the air. She felt she floated in it, as if her legs had just gone somewhere else and her body hung suspended.

She heard words, disjointed, tinny to her ear.

FBI, serial killer, forensics, victims.

Nothing made sense.

No one noticed her, a gangly girl with eyes too wide, too bright in a face pale as a ghost, swimming in too-big clothes and shock.

No one glanced her way, and she wondered, if they did, would their eyes pass over her—through her—just as her father’s had.

Maybe none of it was real. Maybe
she
wasn’t real.

But the pressure on her chest, that felt real. As if she’d fallen from the high limb in the old oak tree out back and knocked away her breath. So far away she couldn’t get it back.

The room took a slow, sick spin, and the light faded. A cloud over the moon.

With Bowes secure, Wayne came out in time to see Naomi’s eyes roll back in her head. He shouted, and he leaped toward her. He was fast, but not fast enough to catch her before she hit the floor.

“Get some water! Where’s the damn doctor? What the hell’s she doing out here?” He gathered her up, cradled her. Gently tapped cheeks he thought looked pale enough for his hand to pass through.

“I’m sorry. Ah, merciful God. She needed food. I just came out to see about getting her something.” Lettie crouched down with a cup of water.

“Did she see him? Did she see me bring that bastard in?”

Lettie only shook her head. “I wasn’t gone for more than three minutes. She’s coming around. There you are, baby. Naomi, honey, just breathe easy now. You just had a faint. I want you to sip some water.”

“Have I been sick?”

“You’re all right now. Take a sip.”

It came back to her, all of it. Her eyes—what her mother called medicine bottle green—closed. “Why isn’t he mad at me? Why doesn’t he care?”

They urged water on her. Wayne carried her into the back again. They brought her sick food—the tea and toast. She ate what she could, and found it made the worst of that floating feeling go away.

The rest passed in a blur. Dr. Hollin came in and looked her over. Somebody stayed with her all the time—and Wayne snuck her in another Coke.

The sheriff came in. She knew him—Sheriff Joe Franks—because she went to school with Joe Junior. He had wide shoulders on a sturdy body, and a tough face on a thick neck. She always thought of a bulldog when she saw him.

He sat across from her.

“How you doing, Naomi?”

His voice was like a gravel road.

“I don’t know. Um. Okay, sir.”

“I know you had a hard night, and you’re having a hard day on top of it. Do you know what’s going on here?”

“Yes, sir. My daddy hurt Ashley. He tied her up down in that old cellar in the woods by this burned-out cabin place. He hurt her really bad, and he hurt other people, too. There were pictures of them down there. I don’t know why he did those things. I don’t know why anybody would do what he did.”

“Did you ever go out there to that cellar before last night?”

“I didn’t know it was there. We’re not supposed to go into the woods that far. Just to the creek, and only when we have permission.”

“What made you go out there last night?”

“I—I woke up, and it was so hot. I was sitting by my window, and I saw Daddy go out. I thought maybe he was going to the creek to cool off—and I wanted to go, too. I got my flashlight and my flip-flops and I snuck out. I’m not supposed to.”

“That’s all right. So you followed him.”

“I thought maybe he’d think it was funny. I could tell if he did before I let him know I was there. But he didn’t go to the creek, and I just wanted to know where he was going. And I thought when I saw the old place, and the cellar, maybe he was putting a bike together for my birthday.”

“Is it your birthday, honey?”

“Monday is, and I asked for a bike. So I waited—I was just going to take a peek. I hid and I waited until he came out, but—”

“What?”

For a moment, she thought it would be easier if she floated again, just kept floating. But the sheriff had kind eyes, patient ones. He’d keep those kind eyes on her even if she floated away.

And she had to tell somebody.

“He didn’t look right, Sheriff. Sir. He didn’t look right when he came out and it scared me. But I waited until he was gone, and I just wanted to see what was down there.”

“How long’d you wait?”

“I don’t know. It felt long.” She flushed a little. She wasn’t going to tell him she’d peed in the woods. Some things were private. “There was a bolt on the door, and I had to work some to push it, and when I opened the door I heard something like whimpering. I thought maybe it was a puppy. We weren’t allowed to have a dog, but I thought maybe. But then I saw Ashley.”

“What did you see, honey? It’s hard, but if you can tell me exactly, it’s going to help.”

So she told him, exactly, and sipped at the Coke even though her stomach jittered with the retelling.

He asked more questions, and she did her best. When he was done, he patted her hand.

“You did real good. I’m going to bring your mama back.”

“Is she here?”

“She’s here.”

“And Mason?”

“He’s over at the Huffmans’ place. Mrs. Huffman’s keeping an eye on him, and he’s playing with Jerry.”

“That’s good. He and Jerry like to play together. Sheriff Franks, is my mama all right?”

Something shuttered down over his eyes. “She’s had a hard day, too.” He said nothing for a moment. “You’re a steady girl, Naomi.”

“I don’t feel so steady. I got sick, and I had a faint.”

“Trust me, honey, I’m an officer of the law.” He smiled a little. “You’re a steady girl. So I’m going to tell you there are going to be other people asking questions. The FBI—you know what that is?”

“Yes, sir. Sort of.”

“They’re going to have questions. And there’s going to be reporters wanting to talk to you. You’re going to have to talk to the FBI, but you don’t have to talk to any reporters.”

He hitched up a hip, took a card out of his pocket. “This is my phone number—the number here, and the one at home I wrote on the back. You can call me anytime—doesn’t matter what the time. You need to talk to me, you call. All right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put that away safe. I’m going to go get your mama now.”

“Sheriff Franks?”

He paused at the door, turned back to her. “Yes, honey?”

“Is my daddy going to jail?”

“Yes, honey, he is.”

“Does he know?”

“I expect so.”

She looked down at her Coke, nodded. “Okay.”

Her daddy was going to jail. How could she go back to school, or church, or to the market with her mother? It was worse than when Carrie Potter’s
daddy went to jail for two months for getting in a fight at the pool hall. Even worse than when Buster Kravitt’s uncle went to jail for selling drugs.

She’d be going into seventh grade in just another week, and everyone would know what happened. What her daddy did. What she did. She didn’t see how she could—

Then the door opened, and there was her mother.