overlooked or missed.
Upstairs, Darby laid in the recliner, cold beneath the comforter. When sleep finally came, Darby dreamed of a house with mazes of dark hallways and shifting rooms, doors that opened to black holes.
Carol Cranmore was also dreaming.
Her mother stood in the doorway of her bedroom,saying it was time to wake up and get ready for school. Carol could still see the smile on her mother’s face when her eyes fluttered open to pitch-black darkness. She felt the itchy blanket wrapped around her and then remembered where she was and what had happened to her.
Panic flared and then, oddly, disappeared. And as strange as it sounded, she still felt sleepy. The last time she had felt this exhausted was last summer, at Stan Petrie’s all-weekend party down in Falmouth where they drank all night and played touch football all day at the beach.
Carol wondered about the food again. Was it drugged? The sandwich had left a slight chalky taste in her mouth – it had tasted funny even when she was eating it – and some time later, after the man with the mask shut the door, she had grown real tried, which surprised her. She shouldn’t be tired. She should be wide awake with fear, but she could barely keep her eyes open. And she needed to pee again. Badly.
She crawled out from underneath the cot, stood and immediately swung her right hand out, feeling for the wall. There it was. How many steps until the wall ended? Eight? Ten? She staggered forward, blinking, eyes wide open in the darkness that wouldn’t go away. This must be what a blind person felt like.
She found the toilet and sat down. For no reason at all, she saw the desk in her room with its windowview of the ugly street and the trees with their beautiful leaves having turned gold, red and yellow. She wondered what time it was, whether it was day or night. Was it still raining?
By the time she flushed, Carol felt better. Awake. Now she had to deal with the fear.
Carol knew she had to come up with a plan. The man who had brought her here would be coming for her again. She couldn’t fight him off with her hands. Maybe there was something in here she could use – the bed. The bed was made with these steel rods. Maybe she could try and dismantle it, grab one of the rods and use it as a bat and knock him unconscious.
Carol felt her way through the darkness, thinking about the person who was trapped down here with her. She hoped to God it was Tony. Maybe Tony was awake, wandering around his room right now, looking for something to use to defend –
Carol bumped headfirst into something solid, a scream escaping her lips as she stumbled backward, almost tripping.
Not a wall, it definitely wasn’t a wall, didn’t have its hard, rough flatness. What was it then? Not the sink either. This was something new and different. What was it? Whatever this thing was, it was blocking her path.
A tiny green light glowed in the darkness, directly in front of her.
The man with the mask was standing behind a camera.
The flash went off, the bright white light piercing her eyes. Blinded, Carol stumbled back. She bumped into the sink, tripped and fell to the floor.
Another flash.
Carol crawled away, bright spots of lights dancing and fading in front of her eyes. Another flash and she bumped her head against the corner of the wall. She was trapped.
Chapter 25
Darby drove out early the next morning, while it was still dark.
Half a dozen patrolmen were busy redirecting the traffic on Coolidge Road in order to accommodate the swelling numbers of state police cruisers, unmarked detective cars and news vans that were clogging up the streets near Carol Cranmore’s house. Small armies of volunteers were gathered, getting ready to canvass the neighborhood with fliers bearing Carol’s picture.
Darby’s attention turned to the state troopers holding the leashes of search and rescue dogs. She was surprised to see them. Because of statewide budget cuts, search and rescue dogs
Upstairs, Darby laid in the recliner, cold beneath the comforter. When sleep finally came, Darby dreamed of a house with mazes of dark hallways and shifting rooms, doors that opened to black holes.
Carol Cranmore was also dreaming.
Her mother stood in the doorway of her bedroom,saying it was time to wake up and get ready for school. Carol could still see the smile on her mother’s face when her eyes fluttered open to pitch-black darkness. She felt the itchy blanket wrapped around her and then remembered where she was and what had happened to her.
Panic flared and then, oddly, disappeared. And as strange as it sounded, she still felt sleepy. The last time she had felt this exhausted was last summer, at Stan Petrie’s all-weekend party down in Falmouth where they drank all night and played touch football all day at the beach.
Carol wondered about the food again. Was it drugged? The sandwich had left a slight chalky taste in her mouth – it had tasted funny even when she was eating it – and some time later, after the man with the mask shut the door, she had grown real tried, which surprised her. She shouldn’t be tired. She should be wide awake with fear, but she could barely keep her eyes open. And she needed to pee again. Badly.
She crawled out from underneath the cot, stood and immediately swung her right hand out, feeling for the wall. There it was. How many steps until the wall ended? Eight? Ten? She staggered forward, blinking, eyes wide open in the darkness that wouldn’t go away. This must be what a blind person felt like.
She found the toilet and sat down. For no reason at all, she saw the desk in her room with its windowview of the ugly street and the trees with their beautiful leaves having turned gold, red and yellow. She wondered what time it was, whether it was day or night. Was it still raining?
By the time she flushed, Carol felt better. Awake. Now she had to deal with the fear.
Carol knew she had to come up with a plan. The man who had brought her here would be coming for her again. She couldn’t fight him off with her hands. Maybe there was something in here she could use – the bed. The bed was made with these steel rods. Maybe she could try and dismantle it, grab one of the rods and use it as a bat and knock him unconscious.
Carol felt her way through the darkness, thinking about the person who was trapped down here with her. She hoped to God it was Tony. Maybe Tony was awake, wandering around his room right now, looking for something to use to defend –
Carol bumped headfirst into something solid, a scream escaping her lips as she stumbled backward, almost tripping.
Not a wall, it definitely wasn’t a wall, didn’t have its hard, rough flatness. What was it then? Not the sink either. This was something new and different. What was it? Whatever this thing was, it was blocking her path.
A tiny green light glowed in the darkness, directly in front of her.
The man with the mask was standing behind a camera.
The flash went off, the bright white light piercing her eyes. Blinded, Carol stumbled back. She bumped into the sink, tripped and fell to the floor.
Another flash.
Carol crawled away, bright spots of lights dancing and fading in front of her eyes. Another flash and she bumped her head against the corner of the wall. She was trapped.
Chapter 25
Darby drove out early the next morning, while it was still dark.
Half a dozen patrolmen were busy redirecting the traffic on Coolidge Road in order to accommodate the swelling numbers of state police cruisers, unmarked detective cars and news vans that were clogging up the streets near Carol Cranmore’s house. Small armies of volunteers were gathered, getting ready to canvass the neighborhood with fliers bearing Carol’s picture.
Darby’s attention turned to the state troopers holding the leashes of search and rescue dogs. She was surprised to see them. Because of statewide budget cuts, search and rescue dogs
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