When Death Draws Near (20 page)

THE THIRD LINE HAD JUST ONE WORD.
COLD
WITH
a triangle and a line. “I bet you were cold. You went out during the day. No jacket. And it is cold down here, which is why, I have to say, you're looking mahvalous, dahling.”

I knew why I was being flippant. I was going to have to touch his remains. He might have something on him that I could use. “I hope you're not ticklish . . .”

Slipping the note into my pocket, I kneeled next to him and reached for his shirt, hesitated, then patted the pocket. A hollow noise greeted my tapping.

My skin crawled at touching his mummified chest.

Nothing in the pocket. Next came touching his jeans. “Come on, girl, it's just a body. You've seen lots of bodies.” I wiped my hand on my pants anyway.

I checked the jean pockets. The leg underneath felt like a cold log. The left one held a stainless steel pocket watch. Engraved on the outside was
To Grady, Love Miriam
. The right one held a small pocketknife.

Moving away from the corpse, I sat down and inspected
my treasures. The watch had long since stopped, but the knife could be useful. I slipped the watch into my pocket and opened the knife. Maybe I could carve steps into the stone to reach the roots . . .

What then, Tarzan? Swing from root to root to reach the opening?

Okay, dumb idea
. Ruby and Elijah would be looking for me. When they didn't find me at the cabin, they'd worry, knowing I wouldn't leave my daughter and not return. Maybe they'd start one of their famous “buzz” phone trees to alert others. For sure someone would call in the sheriff.

Even if Clay was convinced he arrested the right man, he'd see the same evidence I saw. He'd process the cabin, if for no other reason than to gather forensic evidence.

And Blanche and Arless were expecting me to show up with the thumbnails and finished drawings of the serpent handlers. Arless, with all his money, would offer a big reward for someone to find me.

I just had to wait it out.

I didn't want to think about the alternative. What if the rapist, or whoever threw me down here, cleaned all my things out of the cabin? Made it look like I left town?

No. No one would believe I'd leave my daughter.

“So if Devin is the rapist, and threw me down here, why didn't he take advantage of me?” I asked Grady's body.

You know why,
Robert's voice whispered in my brain.
You're damaged goods. Not even a sex-crazed rapist wants you.

“Nobody asked you, Robert, and quite frankly, you're wrong. Rape is about power and control. I suspect he didn't have time, and probably wouldn't ‘enjoy' himself unless he was hurting someone.” It felt good to lecture Robert for a change.

Why didn't he just kill you?
Robert asked.

“Because . . . because of the same reason: power and control. Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd vacate my brain.”

To ward off more inky thoughts, I hobbled to the nearest wall to inspect my prison. High overhead, an opening provided diffused light. I couldn't see the sky. The angle of the gap had allowed me to slide and grab the roots, slowing my fall.

If I couldn't see the sky, then chances were that someone on the surface couldn't see down here.

I touched the stone. Using the pocketknife, I tested the hardness, ending up with a broken knife tip.

Turning my attention to the dirt and rocks piled against the walls, mentally I added up the distance to the opening above me, then compared it to the quantity of material available to pile up. Too far to go, too little to work with.

The boulder Grady leaned against was good-sized and about three feet from the back wall. I limped behind him, then crawled on top of it, wincing when my hand accidentally brushed against his hair. When I stood on the rock, some of the roots were just above my reach. I jumped up slightly, grabbing for the nearest root. I caught it. It held me for a moment, then broke loose, pelting me with rocks and dirt. I fell, attempted to roll upon landing, and ended up sprawled across Grady's body.

I screamed and shoved away from the corpse.

Grady's left arm had flopped off his lap and now lay beside him, his index finger pointing at me. “Hey, I didn't put you here, so don't point an accusing finger at me.” My feeble attempt at humor didn't seem to impress him. He continued to point. I shifted until it was no longer aimed in my direction.

I rubbed my sore ankle and studied the walls and ceiling,
then crawled to my feet. Once again I circled the cave, this time with my hands feeling the surface, looking for a way to scale them. The inward curve and smooth sides gave me no handholds to try climbing.

The taproot that broke my fall lay on the floor. Could I throw it up and . . . what? I needed a grappling hook at the end. I found a rock with a slight indent around the middle, then tried to tie the root to it. The first upward toss wasn't high enough to reach the opening. I tried again. And again. Each time my toss would come up short. Hobbling to the boulder behind Grady, I climbed on top and tried throwing the rock again. This time it landed at the opening and stuck. I gave a slight tug, then put a bit of weight on it.

The root snapped apart in the middle.

I threw the section left in my hands at the stone wall. “Doggone it! Dog
gone
it!” My voice echoed loudly in the space. “Can anybody hear me?” How far would sound carry to the surface? “Hello? Can you hear me? Help!”

No sound came from outside.

“Help! Help! I'm down here!” Once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. I screamed until my throat was raw and my face burned with exertion.

Slowly I lowered myself from the boulder and sat on it. “Anyone?” I croaked. My mouth was dry. Rolling my tongue around inside my mouth, I tried to find a tiny bit of spit. I ached for a drink of cold water.

Rising from the boulder, I limped to the nearest wall and pulled out the knife. Using the metal end, I tapped the stone, listening for a change in the sound. I made a complete circuit of the space, tapping. No hollow
thump
.

I threw the folded knife across the cave. Reaching down, I picked up a rock and threw it as hard as I could in the same direction. “Get. Me. Out of here!” Then another. And another. I hurled stones until my arm ached and I was out of ammunition. I moved over and started flinging the next small pile of rocks.

The stones got heavier, my arm weaker, my aim wilder. I sank to the floor.

Gasping for breath, a hot flash raced up my neck and to my face, bathing it in sweat. My gaze darted around the cave before ending up at Grady. The man seemed to be grinning at me. “I suppose you think this is funny? Were you lonely and in need of a second stiff to keep you company?”

Grady's empty eye sockets stared at nothing.

My sweat dried and the heat leached from my body, leaving me shivering. I wrapped my arms around my legs. “So, Grady, did you and God come up with a way to break me?”

Grady smirked.

“Cancer isn't enough? This is faster? Dehydration, starvation?” I rubbed my arms in the fisherman's knit sweater. “Exposure maybe?”

Shoving up from the floor, I grabbed another stone, this time hurtling it at the ceiling. “Talk to me, God! Answer me!” I threw another rock upward. “Do You hear me?”

I limped to Grady's body and pointed to him. “Grady was a man of God. One of Yours.” I shook my fist at the ceiling. “He handled snakes, for Pete's sake, just because You said so. I bet if You told him to jump off a cliff, he wouldn't have hesitated. And You let him die here!”

My voice caught on the word
die
. I sank to the floor and
stared at the dirt walls. How long had I been down here? Less than a day? And how long to die of dehydration?

Calm down. They'll find you.

But they never found Grady
.

I couldn't sit still. Standing, I paced the length of the cave. Eighteen hobbling steps. Turn. Eighteen steps. Turn. “I've been captive before. And someone wanted me dead. But I made it out. I used my head. The Lord helps those who help themselves. Right?”

Wrong,
Beth whispered in my brain.
Remember what happened?

Eighteen steps. Turn. Eighteen steps. Turn. “Okay. I got it. I know.” I swallowed hard. Eighteen steps. “Everything happens for a reason.” Turn. “And You're not obligated to reveal the reason.” Five steps. My ankle screamed at the partial weight I was placing on it. “Is all this because I stopped talking to You? Well, I'm talking to You now.” My voice rose. Three steps. “If You get me out of this, I'll talk to You all the time.” I was in the center of the cave. “I won't shut up. And I'll pray about other people, not just whine about my own lot in life. How about that, God?” I dropped to my knees, thought for a moment, then said a quick prayer. “Okay. I've done my part. Do we have a deal?”

I listened carefully for that still, small voice. I heard only my own ragged breathing.

“Fine, God . . .” Burying my head in my hands, I cried. Not with Blanche's delicate, hankie-dabbing tears, but loud, gut-wrenching sobs.

After a time, the sobs gave way to hiccups, then to a throbbing headache.

Nothing changed. I was still in an earthen mausoleum with a corpse, but now my head hurt and stomach ached.

I slowly rolled off my knees and wrapped my arms around my legs. I had no strength. Only a miracle would get me out of this grave. A miracle that didn't occur for Grady. I thought of my daughter, bringing her face into focus in my mind. Then Dave, then Beth. They would never know what happened to me. Like many of the families that had no closure on a missing loved one.

Would they have a funeral for me?

Would people say as many nice things about me as they did for Samuel? Blake wouldn't. He hated me. I tried to bring down his family and the faith they practiced.

It felt like a knife twisted in my gut. I didn't want Blake to hate me forever.

I wanted him to like me.
Maybe even love me.

That would be asking too much.

You're a hypocrite, Gwen.
Robert poked at me with his words.

I sat up. “What do you mean?”

There you are, thinking about Blake as someone to love, to marry even.

“So what?”

So you had no such thoughts when you believed he was a minimum-wage chauffeur. Are you so sure you're looking for love and marriage? Or just a trophy? Someone to parade around to prove you still have it? That you're desirable?

“I told you to leave me alone, Robert.” Maybe I needed to be wanted and loved by a man just one more time before I died. But there wasn't time now. Death was drawing so near. So near I could feel its breath on my neck.

In the silence, I heard a soft
tap-tap-tap
.

Water was dripping from the opening overhead. Standing,
I shuffled to the spot and put my hand under the drip, then moved so the water would land in my mouth.

Liquid dirt.

I spit it out, but the mud coated the inside of my mouth. I coughed and spit, trying to clear the muck.

Wanting to cry again, I sat opposite Grady.

The drips continued to tap on the floor, pooling slightly.

“In the dark, could you hear the rain above you? Imagine the rain wetting your tongue?”

The liquid formed a tiny stream that drifted toward the body.

Pushing off the floor, I hobbled closer to Grady, tracking the tiny rivulet. It brushed against his shoe, then disappeared under his leg. I moved still closer to the body. The water appeared to be absorbed by the denim of his pants.

“How terrible your death was, Grady. In agony with two broken legs. Thirsty, but with no way to get water. Alone, betrayed by your son.”

Except for God
. Did Grady have a meltdown? In the end, did he curse God?

The seeping rainwater stopped.

There was something important about what I'd just seen. I looked at the ceiling, then at the point where the drips struck the floor. Water.
What's the message, God? Couldn't You at least give me a hint?

I was cold, thirsty, hungry, and my brain was fuzzy. The stone walls kept the temperature even cooler than the outside air. “Okay, Gwen, take it slowly. Leaking ceiling?” I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to preserve heat. The air seemed to pierce right through the material.

I stood perfectly still.

Water. Cold. Pierce
. I reread Grady's note.
Cold
, then a triangle and line. Could they be connected, forming an arrow? Shuffling behind Grady to the side of the cave the partial arrow pointed to, I bent over and inspected the ground. A tiny channel of disturbed earth disappeared in the rocks and dirt against the wall.

I plucked a hair off my head and held it toward the piled debris.

It moved slightly away from the wall.

WITH MY ABRADED HANDS, I GRABBED, SHOVED,
and pushed the rocks out of my way, exposing more dirt.
It has to be here somewhere
. Finally I found a small opening, undoubtedly created over many years by water seeking an escape from the natural cave. Now I could feel the cool air on my sweaty face. I renewed my efforts, enlarging the hole. The earth gave way to
a rocky opening, roughly two feet across and a foot high.
Thank You, God. Thank You!

I lay on my stomach and peered inside. A pinpoint of light shone at the other end. It appeared to be about eight feet away.

Trying to swallow, I found my spit had long dried like an Arizona summer. I could reach the end, but I'd have to crawl into the tiny space.

I hated small spaces.

Maybe someone could hear me from this opening? “Help! Help me! Can anyone hear me?”

No sound, just that elusive hint of sunlight. A light that would fade as the day progressed.

Are you going to crawl in there in the dark? Wait here for someone who will never come? In the meantime, you're getting weaker and less able to get out, and a sadistic rapist could find your daughter.

Thinking of Aynslee, I could hear her clear voice—was it just one day ago?—when she'd recited my favorite verse.
“Run with endurance the race that is set before us.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. “That's all you have to do, Gwen. Endure.”

My body balked at the task ahead. My hands burned from the dirt now embedded in the cuts. My ankle throbbed. Glancing over my shoulder, the still body of the entombed Grady seemed to say,
Don't end up like me
.
Climb in there or die.

Returning to Grady's body, I slipped his wedding ring off his finger and into my pocket next to the note and the pocket watch. If I ever got out of here, I wanted evidence to prove Devin killed his father.

Rolling back onto my stomach, I edged forward until my head and shoulders were in the hole. The space ahead narrowed even more. I wiggled ahead.

My bulky sweater caught on the jagged rocks overhead and held tight.

I couldn't move.

I screamed and shoved. After an eternity, I clambered backward and out of the tunnel, leaving the sweater still attached to the rock inside the hole.

Shaking all over, I ended up sitting cross-legged outside the opening. I couldn't take the chance that my clothing would catch on something. I'd be stuck and become permanently enshrined in that stone coffin.

Bile rose in the back of my throat at the thought.

The bottom of the sweater was within arm's reach. I snagged it, jiggled it free, and pulled it out. The thick, knitted fabric felt so warm.

Don't linger or hypothermia will set in
.

Retrieving the knife from where I'd thrown it, I had to wait for my hands to stop quaking before I opened it. I cut the top of the sleeve slightly and started unraveling. Once I had a pile of yarn, I placed the knife with Grady's note in the pocket and stepped out of my baggy warm-up pants. After tying a knot in each leg I poked holes in the slippers, sliding them to the end near the knots, followed by my panties. My bra, holding the prosthetic breasts, went next, and finally the sweater, which I evenly distributed. It looked like half a body doing the splits. I tied the yarn to the other pant leg. Once free of the cave, I'd drag my clothes out and get dressed. A dicey move, but I'd risk being naked over being buried alive.

The icy floor radiated up my legs. I shivered. Swiftly I tied the yarn around one ankle, then got on my hands and knees. The opening looked even smaller than before, the light farther away.

With endurance, Lord. Help me do this
.

I lay on my stomach. My whole body rebelled at the stone floor's cold hardness.
Go. Now
. I started forward, my gaze firmly on the light ahead of me.

The rough surface scratched and dug at my skin. I used my torn and bloody fingers to pull me ahead. Slowly, so slowly, the tiny tunnel engulfed me.

The space narrowed. The rock sides closed in, the roof pressed down.

I heard whimpering. It was me.
What if there's a cave-in?
I would be buried alive just as surely as the legendary Octavia Hatcher. Only without a monument.

The cave grew smaller yet. I had to turn my head sideways and put my arms straight forward, blocking the light. The stone sarcophagus was inches from my face.
Oh please, oh please.
Wasted tears burned down my frozen face. Goose pimples erupted over my shaking body. My teeth chattered.

No longer able to bend my elbows, my fingers and toes inched me forward. The space grew narrower yet. I panted for air, choking on the dust.

The ragged ceiling caught on my shoulders, halting my creeping movement. I couldn't take a deep breath. I dug with my toes, willing my body to go forward. Another inch.

The rock compressed my lungs. Breathing was difficult. I fought back blind panic.
With endurance, Lord, help me.
Another inch. The stone bit into my skin, tearing gouges. My blood warmed my frozen skin briefly before congealing.

Sharp jabs came from ripped toenails as I shoved harder, snaking another inch. My sprained ankle howled in protest. How far had I covered? How far to the other side, to freedom? My fingers groped desperately for the opening at the end, encountering only more rock.

A final shove and my shoulders were free. I sucked in dusty air, coughed, and sent more dirt into the confined space. My feet and hands were numb from the cold. My fingers fumbled, trying to grip the rocks.
Endure.

Groveling forward, my hips now caught in the constricted space. I gave a mighty shove with my feet, jamming myself firmly in its grip.

I was stuck.

My fingers grappled for something to pull me free. The ground was smooth. I cried, pounded the earth, and finally screamed. The sound deafened me. Earth filled my mouth. I didn't have any saliva to spit it out.

There wasn't enough air. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't . . .

I was having a dream. A nightmare. I'd open my eyes—

Nothing happened. I was still horizontal, on my stomach, in the rock casket. Dirt clogged my nose and mouth. My hips were firmly caught in the cave. My face pressed against my arm, stretched ahead of me. The stone leached the last of my body heat.

I was going to die.

But I didn't want to die. Not like this. I wanted to see my daughter graduate from college. Get married and start a family. I wanted to hold my grandbabies.

“God. If You get me out of this, I'll fight the cancer. I'll live as long as possible, until You call me home.”

No miracle, bright light, angel, or savior appeared. The words of Job came to me, and I whispered them. “Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return . . .”
And no one will ever find my naked body.
Moving my arms slightly, I folded my hands together and prayed.
Oh, Lord, forgive my sins. Make my death swift. Watch over my daughter and keep her safe.

The cold was so intense I could barely feel my fingers. They felt wet and slippery.

Maybe my hands were crying. That was okay. I was getting warm. So warm . . .

“Mom.”

I heard my daughter's voice.

“Mommy.”

She needed me. I had to wake up. Fight. Endure. Focus. Hands don't cry.

Feeling the rough tunnel floor, I slid my hands sideways. A sharp edge.

I puzzled over that for a moment, my brain fuzzy. A sharp edge on the side . . . I could grip it . . . but what about the hand tears . . . Rotating my other hand, I found a corresponding sharp rock. Rocks with edges. The edge. The outside opening of the cave.

With renewed strength, I grabbed the rocks at the opening and pulled forward. Skin tore from my bottom and hips. I shoved with my feet, ignoring the pain of my sprained ankle. The jagged stone encasing my hips dug deeper into my flesh.

Pausing, I sucked in ragged dirty air. One last try. One . . . two . . . three. I heaved forward, arm straining, feet thrusting, skin flaying.

The rock I was gripping broke, starting a slide of stones bouncing off my exposed hands. Cold air washed over me. My bloody hips and bottom slid free. I could turn my head and look forward. Glorious gray sky appeared in the enlarged opening. I wiggled onward. More rocks tumbled and slid over the widened hole.
Thank You
—

A freed boulder crashed down on my left hand.

Pain exploded up my arm. I screamed in agony.

The rockslide slowed, then stopped. I advanced using my elbows until I could cradle my broken hand. Misty rain joined my tears. The icy rain increased and I shivered uncontrollably.

“Mom.”
Aynslee's voice in my head pulled me from my cocoon
of misery. I didn't want to move. Crawling meant more pain. Fire burned my shoulders, hips, bottom. My ankle throbbed, my hand pounded.

“Mom, move.”
Aynslee's insistent urging reverberated in my brain.

I advanced, still using my elbows, until my shoulders were free of the cave. Ahead of me was a mountainside, misty with low-lying clouds. Below was a narrow rocky ledge, now covered with rocks and dirt from the slide. Below that, far below, were the tops of trees. With a sheer cliff in between.