Trapped Under Ice

TRAPPED UNDER ICE

M.J. Schiller

Copyright © 2013 Mary Jean Schiller

KINDLE EDITION

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Published By Kissmet Publishing

Interior format by The Killion Group

www.thekilliongroupinc.com

PROLOGUE

Chad Evans tried to play his heart out on stage, but he could never quite seem to leave it there. After his band, Trapped Under Ice, performed its second encore, he exited the floor, guitar in hand, soaked in sweat and exhausted. Once backstage, he handed his instrument to a roadie. He took the towel the kid offered with a nod, mopping his face, mustache, and goatee. He then lifted his curly, dirty-blond hair and rubbed the towel back and forth behind his neck, the friction making the cotton feel rough against his skin. He finally pressed it against his eyes for a minute with a sigh, letting it black out the world.

Sometimes the music helped and Chad would be able to relax with the guys after a show. Sometimes, like tonight, he became even more keyed up. Only tonight seemed different from the rest. The feelings were sharper, like glass in his gut. Maybe he had reached his breaking point. A man could only take so much. And tonight he felt like either the rage he felt inside would finally rip him apart, or things would change in some other way. He still held out enough hope to imagine there was some other way out of this, and enough dread to fear there was not.

Chad heard the rest of the band members approaching behind him and shook himself out of his thoughts. “Good job, guys,” he threw over his shoulder to the three men entering the backstage area behind him. In contrast, the trio, his brother included, though equally tired, seemed pleased with the evening. They were now high-fiving each other with smiles on their sweat-glistening faces.

Chad listened to their banter as he opened the cooler resting at his feet in the eaves and reached into its icy interior for a brew. He twisted the bottle top off and dropped it carelessly on the stage next to a dozen others. He kept apart from his fellow band members, knowing he needed some time for the alcohol to do its work and relax his ragged nerves. Nodding to his bodyguard, Pete, who stood off in the shadows, he sidled out a stage door.

Chad and Pete had come to a sort of unspoken agreement at times like this. Chad needed his space, and the older man had learned to give it to him—although Pete often told the singer it was “against ‘The Unofficial Bodyguard’s Code of Operation.’” Yet, it would appear after their five years together, Pete had come to know which fights he could win, and which were better left unfought, as he stepped aside without a word to let Chad pass.

Chad entered one of the hallways circling St. Louis’s Edward Jones Dome to escape for a few minutes. By himself in the hall, he paced like a man on death row awaiting the final hour. He forced himself to stop his back and forth movements to take a long pull on his beer. He leaned against a wall. The beer felt good on his scratchy throat. He knew it was dangerous to sing as all out as he did—blown vocal chords were a singer’s worst nightmare—but he could never sing anything halfway, so he was just waiting for the day his voice would finally give out.

It was cooler and not as close in the hall. Backstage was always stuffy, no matter how well ventilated a venue was, mostly due to the fog from the smoke machine. The smoke remained after the show and never quite dissipated. Instead, it rose to the ceiling and swirled there like a malevolent, gray storm cloud.

Chad stretched long legs out in front of him, crossing his feet and planting one heel of his boots against the toe of the other. His butt and shoulder blades were made comfortably cold where they touched the cinder block wall behind him. He closed his eyes and exhaled jaggedly, wishing to God he could lose the rage that had maintained a stranglehold on him for so long.

The amplifiers were still ringing in his ears as he relived the chords in his mind, so he almost missed the screaming. But just as he lifted his head and tried to place where the noise was coming from, a girl came tearing around the corner. He judged her to be about fifteen or sixteen, with soft brown hair falling just to her shoulders. She pulled up short and Chad could tell in her blink of surprise the girl recognized him. She only hesitated for an instant before running over.

“My m-mom,” she gasped. Chad grabbed the teen by the shoulders to steady her as she tried to suck enough air into her lungs to make herself audible. The stark look of fear in her eyes told him this was no joke. “These guys attacked us—”

Chad interrupted her. “Go inside those doors and ask for Pete.” He took off running in the direction the girl came from, yelling over his shoulder, “Tell him I need help!”

CHAPTER ONE

Beth turned her head to peer at Cassie’s profile with a smile. How had her daughter known this concert was just what she needed? When she discovered the tickets—which the sixteen-year-old had tucked into the branches of their little Christmas tree a week ago—she was touched. Cassie was industrious enough to save money from her first job to purchase them as an early Christmas present to them both. As a barista at their local coffee shop, Beth wondered just how many cappuccinos were poured for customers in order to be able to afford them. Trapped Under Ice was one of the hottest bands going, not to mention her latest obsession, so she was absolutely thrilled about seeing them play.

Now here she was, screaming wildly as one of her favorite songs started. Beth began singing along with the crowd, asking herself for the hundredth time if it was appropriate for a thirty-seven-year-old mom to love a hard rock band whose lyrics were, sometimes, well…questionable. Shaking her head with a laugh, Beth decided, if she enjoyed it, what was the harm?

Beth glanced at Cassie as she bopped along beside her, face aglow with first-concert euphoria. She sent up a silent prayer, thanking God for the night. All they had suffered through in the past didn’t matter right now. Tonight, they were just two girls having fun.

Too soon, the concert was over. After the second encore, mother and daughter followed the crowd down the staircase.

“I hope you didn’t blow your vocal chords singing,” Cassie teased. “You’ve got that big solo tomorrow.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. All I need is a good night’s sleep.”

“On the contrary,” a deep, male voice stated from behind them. “What you need is a night out on the town.”

Beth turned to see if the man was addressing her. Evidently he was, because his male companion added, “What do you say, ladies? We’re so wound up from the concert. Maybe some dancing would help us settle down a little.”

The first man who spoke was tall and good-looking, with dark hair and a beard. He reminded Beth of the lumberjack-looking man on paper towel packages. The second man was thinner and balding, dressed in a khaki jacket and jeans.

Beth smiled. “No thank you. We really do need to go back to the hotel to get some sleep. We have a choral thing tomorrow to attend.”

“Oh, come on now,” the dark-haired man insisted, “it’s barely eleven o’clock.”

“Yes, but that’s late enough for us.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Beth took Cassie’s arm and steered her to the left. “Thanks anyway,” she stated without turning back.

“Mom.” Cassie giggled. “Those guys were hitting on you.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not. I’m serious.”

Beth subtly changed the subject. “
Cas, I want to thank you for the concert tickets. This was fantastic. I never dreamed I would be able to see Trapped Under Ice.” She put an arm around her daughter and gave her a squeeze, then whispered to Cassie confidentially, “Weren’t they awesome?”

“Yeah. They were.”

They laughed, enjoying the opportunity to act more like friends than mother and daughter. The pair chitchatted down the hallway, comparing notes on what songs they thought the group did best and which songs they wished the band played, but didn’t.

Spotting a women’s restroom, Cassie asked, “Hey, can we use the bathroom before we leave?”

“Good idea.” Beth laughed. “I knew those sodas would come back to haunt us.”

As the two joined a line stretching deep into the hallway, Beth noticed the men who spoke to them earlier standing back at a short distance. When they saw her peering in their direction, they glanced away. It seemed as if they were trying to look casual. An alarm bell began sounding in Beth’s ears.
Are those guys following us?
After a few minutes she chastised herself, y
ou’re just being a Nervous Nelly
. But to test her theory, she asked Cassie, “Why don’t we go down farther and see if we can find a bathroom with a shorter line.”

As they proceeded down the hall, Beth peeked over her shoulder. The men fell into step behind them. Beth searched for one of the security guards who seemed to be so prevalent when they first had entered the building. Seeing none, she picked up her pace.

“Geez, Mom,” Cassie joked, “I didn’t know you had to go so badly.”

Beth whispered, not wanting to be overheard. “I don’t,
Cas. I think those two guys we talked to before are following us. Don’t look. Let’s duck back inside the stadium.”

Beth took the next staircase to the interior of the building. They came out among the seats on the west side of the stage. She rapidly descended the interior steps, leading Cassie behind her, and finally exiting on a lower level of the building.

“Are they still following us?”

Beth scanned the area. The hallway was deserted. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, can we use the bathroom, now? I really need to go.”

“Of course, honey.” Beth made a mental note to head in the opposite direction when they came out. In trying to lose their pursuers, they had traveled closer to the backstage area and needed to get back into a more heavily populated area of the building.

“No line here,” Cassie commented unnecessarily.

Beth entered the outer door behind her, and then waited for her daughter a few minutes, checking her hair in the large mirror. “I guess I better try to go, too,” she murmured and stepped into the stall next to Cassie’s. She heard a toilet flush and Cassie exited. A second later, water splashed into the sink.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” Cassie’s voice was shaky.

Beth froze at the sound of the low male voice answering her. “As if you didn’t know.” She could hear two men chuckle, the sound a haunting echo in the empty room.

Fumbling with the lock on the door, Beth rushed out of the stall, belt still undone, hanging loosely from the loops of her jeans. The larger man stood about fifteen feet to her left. The other was positioned inches away from Cassie, leering and reaching to touch her hair. They must have come in separate doors to make sure the women were trapped. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and held it casually in one hand. Cassie clutched the edge of the sink behind her, face pale.

In the few seconds it took to cross the five feet to Cassie’s attacker, a half-dozen voices exploded in Beth’s head. Her self-defense teacher instructed her, “If you’re being attacked by a man, use his size to your advantage.” She heard her grandfather’s voice, a man who boxed in the Army, “Pop ‘
em in both ears at the same time. It will explode their eardrums.” She remembered a time when she and her late husband, Paul, were goofing around and she accidentally hit him below the belt. “You’ve got a man totally in your control when you do that,” he stated, grimacing.

But all these voices were drowned out by a sort of primal scream raging inside of her. She took in Cassie’s eyes, wide with terror, and was transported to a time when Cassie was about four years old and the neighbor’s black lab was jumping up on her. Beth did what she had done then; she let instinct take over.

Not even aware of what she was doing, Beth grabbed the man’s head and, for a split-second, saw his expression of surprise before she slammed it down onto the edge of the sink. He slid to the floor without a sound. She stood for a beat, stunned by her actions. Catching a movement to her left, she grabbed Cassie’s arm and pulled her around the slumped figure of her attacker and toward the door to their right.

The pair made it out the door before she felt a hand clutch the back of her jacket. She shrugged it off as fast as she could. Cassie turned back just as the man’s finger raked through and grabbed the back of her hair. Unable to help herself, Beth screamed in pain.

As the bearded man jerked Beth back, she pushed her daughter forward. Struggling against him, she shouted, “Run, Cassie, run.”

Cassie turned and froze.

The man’s forearm crossed Beth’s throat now, but she still managed to look her daughter in the eyes and somehow scream, “Dammit, Cas. Get out of here.”

The curse word was like a slap in the face. Beth rarely cursed in front of Cassie, and never at her. Cassie stumbled backward a few feet and then turned to run.

***
          

Cassie ran almost blindly. Inside her head a single scream of terror rang, knocking out all reason. She didn’t know if it was the sound of her own voice she heard or her mother’s as the man ripped off Beth’s jacket and clawed at her hair. Cassie’s legs pounded over concrete—propelled up and down like pistons in an engine—though she was sure her mind had not ordered them to. She sobbed once. Why wasn’t somebody coming to help?

She fought to not break down, knowing she needed to keep it together in order to get help. Lungs burning and her eyes stinging with tears, she turned a corner and saw the tall figure dressed in black leaning against the wall. She wanted to give in to the desire to fall apart, to rush into someone’s arms and find comfort, but she knew her mom was somewhere trying to fight off an assailant.