Adirondack Audacity (41 page)

The rain, razor-thin and mean with cold produces a
miserable drizzle slicing through bones and into the spirit.
More telling for a day in early April; and certainly
unseasonable for Memorial Day weekend. The sort of
morning when a reasonable person snuggles in bed; or at
the very least, lingers over a second cup of coffee. But
Cyrus, whining and scratching at the door has other ideas.
A glance out the window reveals dark swirling mists
hovering in the pines; the raindrops cling, sliding down
bent tree branches, stretching closer to the ground like
shadows behind a silver curtain.

Rather than disturb Vic, I silently creep out of the
bedroom, closing the door behind me. He’s exhausted
from the tedious all day publicity shoots and interviews
necessary for the launch of the new movie. Along with
the predawn work out sessions to maintain his physical
conditioning, he needs his beauty sleep.

In the kitchen, I turn on the coffee pot, looking
forward to a hot cup of coffee after my walk. Grabbing
Cyrus’s leash from a hook by the door, I slip out onto the
porch, inhaling the fresh damp morning air. Checking to
ensure the security code is clear, I head down the dirt
road at a brisk pace. Cyrus gives an excited bark and picks
up a stick chasing after me, insisting we play fetch.
Scanning the trees, I see songbirds flitting back and forth
between the branches. In the distance, the sweet whistle
of the white-throated sparrow calling
Sam, Peabody,
Peabody, Peabody
anchors one to the mountains in spring.

Only the steady crunch of my feet on the gravel road
punctuates the stillness of the deep woods. Lani and
Jason along with Trey and Hanna are coming for the long
weekend. It will be the first time the family has been
together since Christmas where someway,
somehow……everyone got along famously. I can’t wait
to see them again. I wish Josh were joining us. Maybe
next time. I need to be patient, good things come to
those who wait…but I’m tired of waiting…….

Hitching up the collar of my jacket against the damp,
I divert my attention to the preparations for the weekend
ahead. The beds are made with fresh sheets, small
bouquets of wildflowers are strategically placed in each
bedroom. Pillows stuffed with balsam fir needles are
tucked into nooks and crannies throughout the house
giving a pungent welcome to the Adirondacks. As my feet
move along the road, my mind runs through the menu
I’ve planned for the weekend, mentally checking my list
to ensure everything is in place to create sumptuous
feasts for my family. I’m in way over my head, but I’ve
been practicing some of the recipes Bridget gave me. The
Barefoot Contessa, I’m not, but with a marathon of
cooking shows to my credit, I might pull it off.

I’m so preoccupied with preparations for the
weekend;; I don’t hear the branches cracking in the
undergrowth behind me until Cyrus growls and barks. I
whirl to catch a blur of movement and a vicious yank on
my arm slams me against the rock hard chest of an
unseen assailant. A rag with a disgustingly sweet cloying
smell is shoved against my mouth and nose cutting off
the flow of fresh air. Ether, my rapidly fogging brain
manages to register. I hear Cyrus barking frantically.

Damp wood smoke, the acrid smell of a fireplace left
unattended, half burned logs lying in a bed of soggy ashes
brings me to consciousness. Simply turning my head
produces a shearing pain radiating from the base of my
skull to slam into the back of my eyes. A small whimper
escapes my throat. Dear God, where am I…. what’s
happened to me? A numbing, stabbing pain screams up
my arms and legs as I try to move, my hands and feet are
tied. Opening my eyes, I see the sheen of duct tape in the
faint light binding my hands tightly in front of me, cutting
off circulation and any hope of moving freely. Screaming
will do no good as my mouth is taped closed. Rolling to a
half seated position, I see dust motes float in the wane
light filtering through windows streaked with grime, half
hidden by shades tattered and ripped through years of
hard use. Walls of rough-cut lumber painted an insipid
green popular in the 1950’s stare back at me. From my
limited viewpoint, the room is furnished with a table and
three badly battered chairs; the bed I’m lying on is pushed
against the wall farthest from the hearth. A rudely
constructed cupboard and countertop hold a meager
assortment of food items, neatly stacked. Who lives
here….and why am I here? Why would someone want to
do this to me? What time is it? Has Vic missed me yet?
Surely he must realize something’s wrong.

Pain and despair nearly spiral me back into the
oblivious peace of unconsciousness. I close my eyes and
listen, paying attention for any sound indicating I’m not
alone. Moments of silence follow. I will my legs to swing
over the side of the bed, sitting up gives me a better
vantage point to survey the surroundings in hopes of
finding a way to escape or seek help.

The door is ten feet away from the bed. Can I hop or
roll to the door with my hands and legs tied? I need to
free my hands. Frantically searching for any object to slice
through the duct tape, I spy an ax lying next to the
hearth. Hopping slowly, icicles of pain shoot up my legs,
yet I manage to reach the hearth. Crouching down, I
wiggle my fingers to place the small ax in position
between my feet, and slowly and painfully saw at the tape
wrapped around my wrists, gasping in panic at the
thought of my abductor returning. At last my hands break
free of the bonds, I almost scream as the blood rushes
into my fingers bringing blessed pain and relief. Choked
with fear, I claw at the tape holding my legs prisoner. As
the last piece falls away, I streak for the door, only to
have it flung open before I can reach the knob. The force
of the door opening sends me crashing into the table,
scattering chairs across the room.

A huge dark man with a mane of black hair flowing
down to his waist fills the doorway with his presence. His
eyes glitter with malevolence, his beard spattered with
spittle as he screams, “You, stupid bitch!”

His long arm snakes out, cruelly grabbing my elbow
yanking me to my feet. “What the fuck do you think you
are doing?” Dropping my arm, he rears back, slashes the
air with his huge paw of a hand, and slaps me across the
face, sending me careening back, smacking my head
against the wall. An explosion of violent color and pain
blind me, as my body goes slack in shock at the assault
upon it. I’ve never felt such pain in my entire life. The
room spins, his voice a distant throbbing against my ears,
muted, muffled like a tape recorder played in slow
motion. I start sinking into the black abyss of
unconsciousness, only to be cruelly pulled to my feet,
tossed like a rag doll on to the bed with a wrenching jolt.

His fetid breath hisses in my ear, “You will not die
until you tell me what I need to know, you lying stealing
whore! Do you hear me?” He shakes my body in cadence
with his fury. “Do…you…hear…me!”

“Wh…
what are you talking about?” I manage to rasp
out of a throat, parched by fear, ether fumes, and lack of
water. God knows how long I’ve laid here. Fear
permeates the very core of my being. What does this
insane man want from me? Is he some depraved fan of
Vic’s, jealous over his wife or girlfriends’ obsession, one
of my student’s parents or a family member? Wild
speculations run rampant through my head. Desperation
causes me to grasp at any idea explaining this man’s crazy
behavior. Who drugs a person, kidnaps and holds
someone hostage, especially me. Seriously, I’m a fifth
grade school teacher; this must somehow be connected to
Vic or a random act of violence.

“You know what I’m talking about!” My vision
diminished due to the rapid swelling of my eye, takes in
this wild apparition of a man, and recognition shoots
through my brain, sending fear, and dread cascading in a
rush of adrenalin. Oh, my God, it’s the man from the
museum. Gone is the neat and tidy appearance of the
bookstore employee. It’s the man leaning over the
counter, listening in on my conversation with Vic. Over
the book. No!…..no, not again.
The broach!
Pure terror
bursts in my chest, snatching my breath away, rendering
me speechless.

I barely recognize him, his hair unbound, the wild
look in his eyes, clothes dirty and disheveled.
“Stop,” I plead in a whispered croak. “Get off me, I
can’t breathe.”
“You’re not giving the orders here, you lying thief!”
He rolls off me to tower above the bed. A black hulking
hallucination from hell. “I’ve waited too long for this day.
You will tell me where you put it ….now! He rages,
grabbing my chin between his powerful hands; squeezing
with enough force to break my jaw.
I sob, “I, I don’t know…..I don’t know what you
want.” I pause, my lungs burning as I drag in much
needed air, desperately willing my brain to think. What
does he want? “Please don’t hit me again….please.” I
whimper, ashamed of the fear paralyzing me. “If you tell
me, maybe I can give you what you want.”
“The brooch, you stupid woman.” He lurches to the
head of the bed, shaking the footboard with fury, causing
the bed to buck and roll, sending a wave of nausea
through me.
The brooch, of course. That accursed thing has come
back to haunt me again, this time to kill me. In the foggy
recesses of my brain, I try to piece together what he
wants to know about the brooch.
“The one in the book?” I ask, instinctively bracing
myself for another blow.
“Yes, you have it, I know you have it.” He glowers
down at me with a twisted sneer on his face. “I heard the
two of you talking when you didn’t think I was listening.”
He is the man from the museum. With my mind
racing, I try to remember, did I tell Vic about this man? I
was so upset over finding a picture of the brooch in the
book; I just wanted to block out the whole incident. I
don’t think I told him. I don’t know….I don’t
remember…..why didn’t I listen to my gut. If Vic
remembers my suspicions then he may have a clue of
where to start searching for me. If I tell this mad man
the brooch is no longer in my possession, he’ll kill me
and leave me here. No one will find me.
Think….think…think… I press a fingertip against
my temple, willing my brain to work. I have to stall him
long enough for Vic to find me. How did I get here,
where are we? I can smell the scent of balsam trees in the
air, so we must still be in the mountains. But where?
“Why do you think I have it?” I question him hoping
to buy time, feverishly thinking of ways to delay my
untimely death.
“I gave it to you and that stupid smartass boyfriend
of yours, years ago. I’ve spent the last thirty years of my
life searching for it.” He screams at me, lurching closer
to my huddled form on the bed. He grabs my throat,
pinning my body to the headboard as he slowly closes his
hand over my windpipe. “Give it back to me. Where do
you have it?” He growls. “Shall I keep choking you? I can
easily snap your neck. Just a little pressure here.” He
exerts more force on my throat. “Are you going to
cooperate with me?”
I claw frantically at his hand while trying to nod my
head held in his death grip. I collapse, coughing and
gasping as he releases his hold. “It’s buried.” I choke out,
chest heaving with the effort of breathing. I study the
face of this man holding me hostage through a haze of
pain. Jolib! That crazy hermit Vic and I met in the woods
so many years ago. The man who stuffed the brooch in
my pack. How could I have been so stupid, not to
recognize him. The familiar nagging feeling I had
yesterday, the premonition of foreboding. I merely
shrugged it off as a silly woman’s intuition, now has come
back to haunt me.
“What do you mean it’s buried? Where did you put
it?” He roars at me.
“Why do you want it, the thing is cursed. You know
that. The brooch caused me nothing but heartache, so I
got rid of it.” I sob, pleading with him. “You saw the
book, it’s true.”
“It’s mine;; I never should have given it to you.” He
stumbles around the room, clutching fistfuls of hair in his
hands. Moaning, “It’s mine, mine, it belongs to my
family. Give it back, give it back.”
“But you have a job and a life. Aren’t you afraid of
the curse? I lost my boyfriend, a baby and husband
because of that damned thing.” He lifts his head from his
hands, eyes bleary with obsession, greed and lust. I
hesitate in the face of such madness. “I can try to find
where I buried it, or just let me go. I promise I won’t tell
anyone. This will be our little secret. If you need money,
I’m sure I could come up with….
“No! Stop!” He screams, dropping his trembling
hands to his side. “It’s not about money.” He halts his
pacing to glare at me. “Where did you bury it?”
“Off a hiking trail, about two years ago.” I feel the
sting of pain in my heart. The memories come flooding
back. The grief and agony of loss I felt as I scrabbled in
the earth, digging, deeper and deeper praying never to see
that damned brooch again. And now this man wants me
to find it.
“Where?!” He roars shaking the bed. I glance out the
grimy windows; twilight has set in, the light gone from
the day. The gloaming hour, despair fills me. Panic
threatens to overwhelm me.
“I can find it.” I lie, my mind scrambling back to the
day I buried the brooch. I purposely put it in an obscure
spot, where temptation would not beckon me back. “Let
me think a minute, it’s dark now, I can’t find it in the
dark.” The thought of spending the night alone with him
is terrifying, but it buys time for a search team to find me.
Vic would have alerted the police in Old Forge, they must
be looking for me. Maybe even brought in law
enforcement from surrounding towns, Vic will be
relentless in his search. And the children were arriving
today, I feel disheartened to know how worried they must
be, yet the thought of my loved ones looking for me is
comforting. I have to be strong, and survive the night.
His shadow looms in the fading light. “What town is
it near?” He demands “Think you, stupid bitch, think.”
A plan comes to me; the odds of being found are slim
to none; no one knows where I am. I buried the brooch
on a seldom used path leading off the main trail up Blue
Mountain. As the children were growing up, the trail to
the top of Blue Mountain was a favorite family hike. One
day we decided to try a new route by diverting off the
main trail, it turned out to be a dangerous decision. The
trail narrowed to a thin ledge along the mountain pass, I
wanted to turn back, but Jack and the kids were caught
up in the adrenalin rush of adventure. At a narrow point
on the trail Lani’s foot slipped on a loose rock,
fortunately a tree growing out of the rocky ledge saved
her from a serious fall down the precipitous. The
adventure lost its luster; and we never took that trail
again. Until the day I brought the brooch back to the
mountains, some sense of calamity or doom must have
called me back to that rocky ledge. I scrambled up the
steep summit, and once assured that no one was around;
I buried the brooch, hoping to never see it again. But
maybe, just maybe, if I took him up the mountain; he
would have to free my legs, opening the possibly for
escape or God forbid, give me the opportunity to push
him off the ledge. An icy chill runs up my back. Would I
have the courage to shove him over the edge? The
question remains…could I kill someone….do I have a
choice?