further and further. He’d wrapped the tape three times, he wasn’t taking any chances. When the last layer fell to the concrete floor, she shook her numb hands, then rubbed them against each other like Lady Macbeth, until finally she felt pins and needles. Now, for the duct tape on her ankles. As her hands strengthened, she was able to work faster. She couldn’t believe it, but finally, she was free. She slowly stood up, nearly collapsed, and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. She stamped her feet, leaned down to rub her calf muscles, willing the feeling to come back.
She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, if it was still day or early evening. He’d gotten to her so fast. She’d turned to open her front door, thinking she was going to call her mom first, tell her what she’d seen and ask her advice—and felt a sudden flash of pain on the back of her head where he’d struck her. She touched the lump with light fingers, and thankfully didn’t feel any blood. She ignored her head and continued to work until she could feel her feet, and her legs were waking up. She walked a few steps, weaved a bit, and stamped her feet again against the concrete floor. Finally, she was good to go.
She wanted to run up the basement stairs and keep running, but he could be up there, waiting. She’d been concentrating so hard on contorting her body to get free, it was possible she hadn’t heard him. Or maybe the basement was soundproofed. But if he was up there, wouldn’t she hear him thinking, like before? She didn’t know. Maybe it had been only a onetime thing. Better not blast out of the basement, not without a weapon. She saw an old jagged water pipe overhead, looking nearly ready to fall down. She jumped for it, but it was too high. She found an ancient three-legged stool in the corner next to the refrigerator and pushed it over beneath the pipe. Now, the trick would be not to fall off the stool and break her leg. Slowly, carefully, she managed to balance on it. When one of the stool legs started to wobble, she grabbed the pipe with both hands, steadied herself, gently eased her weight back onto the stool, got her balance again. She saw the jagged pipe was screwed into another pipe, so all she had to do was twist it free. Easier said than done, even with the pipes looking older than her grandmother. She didn’t have much leverage, but she was strong. She twisted again, but no movement. She pulled off her T-shirt, wrapped it around her hands, and tried again. Finally, she felt the pipe give.
She twisted until it fell off into her hands. It was more than a foot long with edges sharp enough to plunge into a man’s throat. How had the pipe gotten so rusted? It didn’t matter. She carefully climbed off the stool, pulled her filthy T-shirt back over her head.
She had her weapon, and even better, she had hope. She filled herself with cold rage at this monster who’d brought her here to kill her, who’d probably murdered three teenage girls. She began to climb the basement stairs, listened to the old wooden boards creak beneath her weight, loud as the crack of a fired gun to her ears, too loud.
She walked to the top of the stairs, tried the door handle. To her relief, it wasn’t locked. Slowly, she pushed the door open. And froze.
“Well, hello there. What a surprise to see you up here.”
10
* * *
GAFFER'S RIDGE
Special Agent Griffin Hammersmith wanted some sleep after the best Reuben sandwich he’d ever had in his life—well, the best since the Reubens Jenny had made him back when they were students at Penn State years before.
Maybe he’d take a nap after he walked back to Jenny and Aimée Rose’s house on Cedar Lane, but for now, walking and breathing in the sweet clean mountain air felt fine. He took a look back at Jenny’s Café, always bulging with tourists in the summer and with locals year-round, from 7:00 a.m. when the doors opened. She closed at 2:00 p.m. most days because, she’d told him, she and Aimée Rose wanted a life and she didn’t want to lose her chef in training, Alfredo Smith, who wouldn’t deal well alone with a dinner crowd. Griffin stretched tired muscles, rubbed his neck, saw Kyler Park