Strong 03 - Twice (36 page)

“Does this type of thing really happen?” he asked.

“I heard that some people are actually hiring companies to kidnap them. I mean, like, attack them on the street, take them away
in a van, and tie them up like this. They predetermine the number of days they’ll be held, what kinds of things they want to happen to them. They try to get away. For fun. Can you imagine? There are too many idiots with money in this city.”

“No shit.”

Awkwardly, they snaked their bodies closer to each other, and after a few minutes of adjustment, Dax went to work on one of Jeffrey’s wrists.

“You know,” said Jeffrey, “in some cultures we’d have to get married now.”

Dax spit. “Bloody homo.”

S
tanding behind the gate was a homely midget. He was filthy, with a big face and a striped stocking cap; in his hand he held a key, which he passed through the gate to her. Lydia suppressed the urge to run screaming. When she leaned in to him, she saw that his beard was full of crumbs and that he gave off a strange odor, some combination of body odor, foot rot, and baked goods. He smiled a dirty smile at her, his teeth brown and filmy, as she swung open the gate. He took the key back from her and locked it behind them, then he jumped down on the tracks. She followed quickly, landing awkwardly and almost dropping to her knees. She’d never thought to carry a flashlight. The dwarf seemed comfortable with the darkness, so she kept her eyes on him and stayed close to the wall as the relative light from the abandoned station behind them faded, becoming smaller until it disappeared altogether.

The dwarf jumped though a hole in the concrete, and, pausing to look through, all Lydia could see was black. The darkness seemed alive with ugly possibilities and she was aware that her heart was pounding in her chest, every nerve ending in her body pulsing with fear and the desire to flee. She could hear the skittering of rats, but she couldn’t see them. The sound of their tiny, clawed paws seemed to come from above and below her, all around. She steeled herself
and followed the midget through the hole like Alice in some sick urban Underland.

T
hey were making progress until Dax passed out. His head just kind of got heavier against Jeffrey’s arm, and Jeffrey felt a wave of fear.

“Dax? Dax?” he said uselessly, his voice bouncing off the concrete that surrounded them. He forced his own breathing to quiet, and was relieved to hear Dax’s. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much blood Dax had lost.

For a second he almost believed that this was a nightmare, not real. He didn’t want to believe they were going to die down here; thinking thoughts like that was suicide. But things were looking grim. He continued to turn his wrist, working it in circles and trying to stretch the tape and put stress on the tear Dax had made. He thought of Lydia, imagining that this piece of tape was the only thing that kept him from seeing her again, that kept him from holding her safe and warm in their apartment. He imagined that it was the only thing that kept them from putting an end to Jed McIntyre. Finally, he pulled his hand free. He had a moment of elation and relief. He reached out his hand to touch Dax’s neck, feeling for a pulse. It was weak; but he was alive.

He went to work on the other hand, the left half of his body free now. He imagined that getting this hand loose was the only thing that was going to save Dax. And it wasn’t far from the truth. Dax groaned next to him.

“Hang in there, Dax. Hold on.”

It was then that he heard someone approaching in the darkness. Jeffrey held his breath, every nerve in his body on edge. There was silence again and he started pulling desperately on the other bindings. The sound of chains and a padlock coming undone made him freeze. He came as close to praying as he ever had. A door swung open and a large form stood in the doorway. It was lighter outside than it was in the room where they were being
held, but he still couldn’t see the face of the person standing before them.

“You boys are in a lot of trouble … again,” said a voice Jeffrey recognized.

S
he didn’t know how long they had been walking and the darkness was disorienting. She felt closed in and was having difficulty breathing in the dankness. Though she was trying to remember where they had turned by running her hands along the wall, feeling for abnormalities that she would remember if feeling her way out, it seemed fairly hopeless. She had no idea where she was, and if she turned and tried to leave, she might be wandering the tunnels forever.

She followed her guide more just by hearing him than actually seeing him. He shuffled his feet loudly, maybe on purpose so she could hear him. Or maybe that was just the way he walked … quickly, rushing, shuffling his little feet. He hadn’t said a word and she wondered if he was mute. She started talking, mainly just to make herself feel better.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked him. “What’s he giving you?”

He didn’t answer her, just gave a little snort that was maybe meant to express disdain.

“Because he’s using you, you know. When you’ve fulfilled your purpose he’ll kill you and never think twice about it. So anything he’s promised you is a lie.”

“Shut up,” came a small, whiny voice from in front of her.

Bull’s-eye
, she thought with an inner smile.

“It’s true. He doesn’t care about you. He’s not your friend.”

She had given it a little thought while feeling her way through the darkness. What would motivate someone to do the bidding of Jed McIntyre? The life of a homeless dwarf couldn’t be an easy one. He was probably scared a lot of the time, lonely, a misfit even in a land of misfits. Money doesn’t buy loyalty for very long, generally.
But fear can, gratitude, maybe for a time. Maybe Jed was offering him protection.

“You think he’s looking out for you. But as soon as he has what he wants, he won’t need you anymore, Shorty.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice defensive and angry.

She grinned at her victory. Even in moments of mortal danger and terrible fear, Lydia really had a knack for fucking with people’s heads.

“Just tell me what he promised you. Is he protecting you? He’s going to leave you here when he goes, trust me. He’s not taking you with him. Besides, I’m going to kill him. Then you’ll have to answer to
me
.”

The midget laughed and it sounded at once childlike and sinister.

“Yeah, right.
You’re
going to kill
him
.”

“Watch me. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

His giggling stopped abruptly. “When he’s done with you, you’re not even going to want to live.”

The words sent an army of chills from her neck into her fingertips. She wanted to pull out her gun and make the dwarf wet his pants and weep for mercy. But if she killed him, she’d never find Jeffrey. If she never found Jeffrey, then the little bastard would be right after all.

“When this is over, I’m going to have mercy on you, Shorty.”

“Isn’t that generous?” came another voice out of the darkness. “You’re a better person than I am, Lydia Strong.”

Suddenly there was light and the darkness seemed to skitter away in the beam of the powerful flashlight. In the momentary blindness that followed, she heard Jed McIntyre laugh.

She struggled against arms that wrapped around her from behind, arms as cold and strong as lengths of chain. One impossibly powerful arm held her immobile across the chest and another
wrapped tightly around her throat. She tried to twist away from him, feeling weak against his superior weight and the intensity of his grip on her. When she stomped down hard down on his foot, his grip loosened for just a moment and she managed to free an arm. Her hand flew to the shoulder holster but stopped dead when she felt the steel of a blade against her neck. It was so sharp that just the lightest touch nicked her skin and she felt a warm vein of blood trickle down her neck. Her breathing came harsh and ragged.

“This would be a good time to hand over your weapons, Lydia,” Jed McIntyre said reasonably. “I can feel one here at your back.”

Releasing her arms but keeping the knife pressed to her throat, he pulled the Glock from her waistband and handed it to the dwarf. “I dislike guns,” he said. “They’re so sloppy.”

The dwarf pointed it at her, his grin superior and malicious. She wondered if he realized she had the safety on. It was a piece of information she’d hold on to for the time being. Her mind was oddly clear in spite of the horror and unreality of the situation. Things seemed to be happening very slowly.

Jed McIntyre removed the Smith and Wesson from the holster and pushed her away from him; she hit a concrete wall hard. She raised a hand to her neck and felt the wet stickiness of her own blood. It looked black on her fingers.

Jed McIntyre picked up the flashlight that lay on the ground and shone it under his face. He looked ghoulish in the harsh white light, creating black circles under his eyes, his teeth yellow and shining. His red hair was a chaos of wild curls.

“You can’t imagine how long I’ve been waiting for this moment, Lydia. Doesn’t it feel like destiny?”

With that he pointed the revolver at the dwarf, whose malicious smile melted into uncertainty. He let go a little laugh, his eyes darting from Jed to Lydia and back to Jed. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking. “Come on, Jed. It’s not funny.”

“I wouldn’t shoot that in here if I were you,” said Lydia, looking around at the concrete tunnel they were in. At such close range the bullet would pass through the dwarf and ricochet all over the tunnel.

“Sorry, Horatio. It’s been great.”

Horatio swung the gun he had pointed at Lydia toward Jed. It was too big for his hands, but he managed to reach the trigger. But the gun wouldn’t fire. Those pesky safeties.

McIntyre fired the revolver and Lydia dropped to the ground, curled herself in a ball, and covered her head with her arms. The echoing
bang
must have been heard for miles.

Horatio issued a girlish scream that ended abruptly in a horrible gurgle. She heard him fall to the floor, heard him rasping and convulsing there on the ground for thirty seconds, maybe more. She heard the sharp scream of the bullet as it bounced off the walls, twice, maybe three times before losing momentum, all the while waiting to be struck by it. She leaned against the wall, feeling pity and revulsion, terror and rage come in flashes, competing with one another in intensity. Then there was silence.

“I hope I didn’t act in haste,” said McIntyre, musing.

Horatio’s leg twitched horribly for a few seconds more as blood drained from a throat wound. Lydia felt pity for him as she got to her feet to stand face to face with Jed McIntyre.

“
F
ord?”

“Rose.”

“How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” His throat felt as dry and his hands as shaky as a boy talking to his crush. An awkward silence fell between them. They were strangers to each other now. Strangers who shared a twenty-five-year past
.

“Where are you?” he asked finally
.

“With Katie in Houston.”

“How is she?”

“She’s doing well.”

Again silence. He wasn’t sure what she wanted, why she called. Was it guilt?

“I miss you, Ford.”

He closed his eyes against the swell of emotions that rose in his chest. If he released all that he was feeling, he was sure that the wires on the phone would burst into flames. “I miss you, too,” he said in a voice that croaked, one he barely recognized
.

“Can we talk?”

“Aren’t we talking?”

“In person.”

“Come home,” he said, and he tried not to sound like he was begging
.

“Ford …”

“Just come home, Rose. We’ll talk all you want.”

“Things have to change.”

“Okay whatever you want,” he said, and he meant it
.

“No. It has to be what
we
want, Ford. If we don’t want the same things, then there’s no point in our being together anymore. Do you understand that?”

He paused, listening, really listening to her, maybe for the first time. He did know what she meant and he wondered if maybe it was hopeless after all
.

“I can only be what I am, Rose,” he admitted, expecting her to hang up
.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice was soft, loving, sounding like she had when they were young
.

“We’ll talk, then. Figure it out.”

“Yes. I’ll come home in a few days. Friday.”

“Okay.”

“Ford?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He cried then; he didn’t care that she heard him sobbing like a baby. “I love you, Rose. So much,” he managed to croak before he hung up the phone
.

He played the conversation over in his mind as he drove the Taurus up to Haunted. He’d stopped home before heading upstate, to shower and change, more to keep himself awake than out of concern for hygiene, and had been there to take the call from Rose. Part of him was starting to believe he dreamt it, that she wasn’t really coming back, that he was going to be forced to live out the rest of his life alone with only his unsolved cases to fill the empty hours and years. Like a schoolgirl, he analyzed her words. Was she coming back to stay? If he didn’t say the right things, would she leave again? Friday seemed impossibly far away. He pushed the conversation from his mind. He had to focus now. Two children were missing, two people were dead, three if you counted Tad.

He raced up the road that wound toward the outskirts of the town. Tall trees rose on either side of him and there was only the sliver of a moon in the sky. He should have waited for morning. But with the kids missing now, there wasn’t a second to waste. He was a homicide detective, so finding out who killed Richard Stratton might be the only way he could help Lola and Nathaniel. Maybe he should have brought someone with him. But he needed Malone and Piselli working the crime scene, working with the task force assembled to find the twins. He reached for his cell phone to call Malone, let them know where he was headed. But the thing was dead. Goddamn things always ringing, never charged when you need them.