“John, there are plenty of computers back at Swain’s house,” Clegg said, sounding like an experienced climber conversing with a skittish novice. “Let’s use one of those.”
“I still don’t get it. Why go back there?” I asked. My body trembled with worry, while Clegg, as a counterpoint, didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.
“If you’re right, and Mr. SHS is Carl Swain, then I think what we’re going to need is a hostage to exchange.”
This time I parked Ziggy right in front of Swain’s house. Clegg and I climbed out at the same time and slammed our doors shut synchronously, too. Distress had replaced prudence. Again we went around back, and again Clegg used his lock-pick kit to open the door. This time, Clegg followed my frantic dash upstairs. I made my way hurriedly to the attic’s foldout stairwell, but before I could take a single step up, Clegg grabbed my arm from behind and pulled me back down.
“You don’t want her to see your face,” he said. “Let me go up first.”
I nodded, unable to speak. What I could do, and easily, was imagine the absolute worst. My mind’s eye saw Ruby tied to the same horrible oak chair as Dr. Adams and Winnie once were. An all-consuming despair overcame me as I thought about her struggling to break free from those restraints. I pictured the Fiend flashing those bloody pruning shears, threatening to do what he liked to do.
Clegg disappeared up those rickety stairs, the slanted ladder bending with his weight. Moments later I heard him shout, “Get facedown! Facedown, now!” He sounded just like a cop making an arrest. Then I heard some shuffling, followed by a bit of grunting, footsteps overhead, and then a door slamming shut. “Okay, come up!” Clegg yelled down.
When I got upstairs, I saw Clegg standing by the door to the small room that contained the bondage bed. The muffled sobs of Swain’s mother filtered out into the larger room.
“She’s in there,” Clegg said, pointing to the shuttered door behind him. “I’ll watch her. You do your thing.”
“You had to lock her up?” I asked.
“You want to wear a hood?”
I turned on Swain’s computer, grateful he didn’t password-protect his machine. All his computers came with built-in cameras, which would be necessary to communicate with the Fiend—and to see Ruby.
Working quickly, I typed the URL from my iPhone into a Web browser. A password prompt came up, asking only for a first and last name. I typed “John Bodine” and got an access denied message. Then I typed “Elliot Uretsky.” A live video stream came up, showing me that well-worn oak chair, the dangling naked bulb on a brown extension cord, the corded pipes dripping filthy rust-colored water. My whole body became weightless and heavy in the same instant.
However, instead of seeing Ruby seated on that chair as I had expected, there was a note penned with a black marker in neat all-caps handwriting on a piece of white rectangular cardboard. The note read: Be back soon. Hang tight! The scene, unchanging, could have been a photograph.
“What’s going on?” Clegg asked.
“She’s not there,” I said. “Come look.”
Clegg grabbed a bondage chair, yet another piece of disturbing furniture with straps and hooks and ways of holding people down, and jammed it underneath the doorknob of the room where we were holding Swain’s mom captive.
“Is she still tied up?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I’ve learned over the years that people can be crafty. Better to play it safe.”
He found the bondage hood with the eye slits cut out on the floor and slipped it over his head.
“What are you doing now?” I asked.
“Taking precautions,” he said. “SHS knows your face, but he doesn’t know mine.”
Clegg read the note on the video feed while I paced in a tight circle and tried to keep from throwing up.
“What do we do?” I asked. I found it impossible to maintain eye contact with Clegg while he wore that hood.
“We wait,” Clegg said, his voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth. “Just like the note tells us to do.”
CHAPTER 52
I slumped to the floor, legs useless, arms hanging limply by my sides. Clegg came over and knelt down beside me.
“Take off that hood,” I said. “I can’t look at you with that thing on.”
Clegg shook his head. “Precautions,” he said again. “I don’t know when our guy is going to show up on the video feed.”
“You’re crazy. But you know that already, don’t you?”