Kidnapped!
Part 4
Manor House
Saturday
1:00 p.m.
“Mother,” Jim said, trying not to sound exasperated, “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
“I know.” Madeleine Wheeler covered her eyes with one slender hand. “But you only just came home from the hospital, Jim. Maybe you should go up to your room and rest?”
“Resting is all I did in the hospital, Mother.” Jim managed to smile. “I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but I really am okay. I need to help.”
“Let the boy be, Lainey,” Wesley Hart told his sister. He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “I have to tell you, Jim. Your grandfather wasn’t sure if he should call you an idiot or a hero.”
Jim laughed, but it was hollow. “I’m not sure, either, Uncle Wes.” He shrugged. “I just did what anyone would have.” He paused, licking his lip. “So, what do we know about Tessa?”
Wesley’s eyes darkened. “Not enough.” Running a hand through his hair, he continued, “Your father is meeting with the FBI agent right now. Peter Belden went to pick Andrew up at the airport, and I imagine we’ll be having a meeting as soon as they get back. All we really know is that someone led Tessa out of the bathroom. She wasn’t struggling, but she was crying. Her friend was knocked out and left in a storage closet.”
“Actually, we know a bit more than that.”
Matthew Wheeler entered the study, Peter and Andrew Belden on his heels. He dropped a kiss on his wife’s head and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Glad to have you home, son.”
“Glad to be here, Dad,” Jim responded.
“Sit, gentlemen.” Matthew waited until everyone was seated. “I spoke with Special Agent Salinas. The FBI is working on several potential leads, the first being Dan’s old gang.”
Andrew cursed under his breath. “I believe my reaction was identical to yours, Andy,” Matthew told him. “But, there are a bunch of inconsistencies in the gang theory, not the least of which is the fact that the person most likely to seek revenge is locked up on Riker’s Island.”
“That’s for sure?” Jim interrupted. “Dan wasn’t certain.”
“As far as I know,” Matthew assured him. “Which brings us to the second school of thought; jealous girl.”
“Jealous of what?” Andrew asked.
“Jealous of Tessa’s relationship with Dan, evidently,” Matthew answered.
“Why does everything always come back to that boy?” Andrew muttered darkly.
“Andy,” Peter warned, “Be fair.”
“It’s hard to be fair when your child is missing,” Andrew retorted.
“I know,” Madeleine sympathized, “but in his defense, Daniel didn’t even know the girl in question. The girls knew that something was off with her, but they kept it to themselves.” Her gentle eyes hardened. “So, I’m warning you, Andrew. You leave Daniel alone. Have you seen him? He’s devastated and driving himself crazy with worry.”
“What does the FBI say about her?” Wesley asked his brother-in-law, diverting his sister’s attention.
“Well, they found something interesting when they started looking into her. It seems Dara Prinze is the girl Jim pulled out of the river last night.”
Saturday, September 14
1:45 p.m.
She woke up more gradually this time, the ache in her head almost completely subdued. Tessa rolled over onto her back and cautiously opened her eyes. Blackness. She blinked and opened her eyes again. Still black. The darkness was consuming, and Tessa struggled to breathe, her heart racing as she fought against an overwhelming feeling of suffocation. Her lungs burned with the rapid inhalation of air, and she fought to control her breathing and, thereby, the pain.
“Stop it!” she told herself, the rasp in her voice surprising her as she struggled to sit up, brushing her hair out of her face. Her fingers took on form as she stared at them, her eyes adjusting and compensating for the lack of light. Slowly, she regulated her breathing, trying to make out her new and very strange accommodations.
She was sitting on a couch, a musty, old, scratchy, saggy couch. Her mouth was cotton-ball dry, and her throat felt raw and sore. Moving carefully, Tessa ran her hands over the cushions, feeling her way to the end. Reaching past the arm of the couch, she stretched out, touching...air. A little further, and her fingers brushed...something. A wall? Uncertain, Tessa knelt on the couch to gain more distance with her stretch. Cardboard? Tessa crawled back the other direction. This time, when she reached out, she hit something solid only an inch or so away. Wood.
An end table? Tentatively, Tessa’s hand crept forward, searching. Her fingers felt ceramic, cool and smooth. Creeping upwards, they sought and found a switch. With a silent prayer, she twisted the plastic piece, shielding her eyes as the lamp came alive, bathing her in very dim, but welcome, light.
Slowly allowing her eyes to adjust, Tessa took stock of her surroundings. She was kneeling on an orange and brown plaid couch in a small living room made completely of cardboard boxes. She blinked, wondering if she was still under the influence of the drugged handkerchief. No. The walls really were made of carefully stacked boxes. A worn rug covered the concrete floor, and blue curtains hung on the wall facing the couch. Cautiously, she rose to her feet, her sandals slapping out the twelve paces to the curtain. She pulled it back, not sure what she expected to find. Not a window--a pastel drawing of a window, with a blue sky and crudely drawn rolling hills. Tessa stepped back, assessing her cardboard cabin from the other side. The lamp was a standard ceramic base with a yellowed shade. The table on which it sat was battered, the laminate peeling and dented. A wooden cube sat on the floor at the opposite end of the couch. It was painted bright pink, and a pillow and green knitted afghan peeked out the top. The cube looked familiar, but Tessa, in her confused state, couldn’t quite place it.
Moving back to the couch, she sat down and tried to remember exactly what had happened to bring her to this place. Her head felt fuzzy. She remembered Tad spilling his Dr Pepper, soaking her skirt. She and Marnie had headed toward the bathroom, only to have Mrs. Paxton suggest they use the new air dryer in the staff bathroom. Tessa had rinsed her skirt in the sink, scrubbing the embroidered cotton gently as she and Marnie joked about clumsy boys.
“He’s your date,” Tessa said, “Shouldn’t you be the one wearing his soda?”
“I’m happier wearing his letterman jacket,” Marnie replied. “You can wear his food. He’s a sweet boy, even if he has a tendency to spill.” She dabbed at a small spot with a paper towel. “The teacher’s restroom is much nicer than the girl’s room in the hall. They have lotion, two kinds of soap and both paper and air dryers. I wonder if they have seat covers and two-ply tissue?”
“Go ahead and check,” Tessa teased. “I’ve got this.”
“Really?” Marnie’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve always wanted to pee in the teacher’s toilet.” She stepped into the stall as Tessa started the dryer.
Conversation stopped, as the noise of the dryer filled the bathroom. Tessa was concentrating on her skirt and didn’t hear the door open until the deceptively strong arms grabbed her from behind and forced a soaked cloth over her nose and mouth. The cloyingly sweet smell entered her nose and mouth, burning the linings of both, and making her eyes water uncontrollably. Tessa struggled, but despite the fact that her assailant was about the same size as she was, the element of surprise was against her.
The rest was a blur. Marnie emerged from the stall, and the assailant dealt the other girl a hard blow to the side of the head with...something shiny. Tessa could recall the flash, but she had been locked in a drug-induced fog. The cloth had come down on Marnie’s unconscious face, and Tessa had watched as her friend was stuffed into the small storage closet. The assailant turned then, pushing back the hood of the black sweatshirt and revealing a familiar face. Dara Prinze.
Tessa recalled watching with vague interest as Dara fitted a blond wig over her own hair and reached for Tessa’s arm.
“Come on,” Dara ordered. “We need to get out of here. You’re upset.”
“I am?” Tessa asked, her brow wrinkling. “Why?”
“Because Dan broke up with you,” Dara explained. “I’m going to take you some place quiet. Some place you can cry and no one will see.”
“Am I crying?” Tessa touched her face with her fingers. Her eyes burned and her cheeks were wet, but she wasn’t sure why.
“You have been,” Dara informed her. “Your heart is broken. Let’s go.”
Tessa followed, not really sure why, tears streaming from her eyes.
It was the drug. Probably chloroform, Tessa realized. That would explain the tears and the burning sensation, as well as the lingering rawness of her nose and throat. She had only the smallest recollection of arriving here in the dark. Dara had pushed her onto the couch and stuffed the cloth against her face again, with a lot more force. Then the blackness had come.
“Okay,” Tessa rasped out loud just to hear a voice. “This is what you’re going to do. Figure out where you are. Figure out how to get out.” In her head, she added, “Find a weapon to use on Demented Dara when she comes back.”
There was a door. Sort of. It was actually a drop cloth painted to be a door. Tessa approached it, studied it, and pulled it aside to reveal a makeshift hallway. It was a dark hall, made of stacked boxes, and she crept through it, groping her way forward.
Reaching out, she felt cinderblocks. A real wall! Inching along in the dark, she found an open doorway and stepped through. Running her hands along the wall, she found a light switch and flicked it on. Light flooded the room, and Tessa blinked, her eyes burning with the change.
Mirrors lined one whole wall, lit by bare light bulbs wired in above them. A counter ran beneath the mirrors, littered with wigs and makeup. Tessa counted the wigs: One short blond, one long blond, a short, curly red wig, and one with long, dark ringlets. A styrofoam head sat empty near the end. A tiny window sat up high on the wall opposite the doorway, and Tessa added another item to her to do list. Find a way to open that window. She turned slightly and nearly cried with joy.
Between the light switch and the counter was a sink. Small and grey, with tarnished fixtures. Please. Please. Please. Tessa prayed silently. She hesitated and reached for the faucet, turning it with a sharp twist. There was an airy whoosh, followed by a gurgle and a sporadic sputter of rusty-red water. Resisting the urge to plunge in, Tessa stepped back and let the water run. It seemed to take forever before the pipes were cleared of rust and air, and the water ran strong and clear. She cupped her hands and brought the liquid to her mouth, drinking as deeply as she could manage. Her throat protested the intrusion, but her dry mouth was soothed and her empty, churning stomach somewhat appeased. Tessa splashed some water on her face, clearing the last vestiges of her drug stupor. She studied her wrist, checking the Rolex Uncle Wes and Aunt Catherine had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Three o’clock. She checked the date box. It showed the number fourteen. Okay, she told herself. It’s Saturday. But is it morning or afternoon?
She turned off the water and moved toward the wall opposite the mirrored counter. There was a door there, and it was closed. Opening it revealed a toilet, and Tessa stepped inside, fumbling for a light switch. Flipping it, she turned to look around. Her eyes met a darkly familiar pair staring back at her, and she screamed.
Author Notes:
As always, much thanks to my beloved editors, WendyM, Susansuth & Dianafan. Seriously, darling readers, you have no idea what this stuff looked liked before the got hold of it!
A note about chloroform: The chemical compound known as chloroform was once widely used as an anesthetic--until it started killing people. When inhaled in SMALL amounts, it can put a person in a dazed state, much like other drug-induced highs. In larger doses, it can cause unconsciousness and death. It is toxic, and can cause liver and kidney damage. Inhaling it can also cause soreness in the throat and nasal passages. I suggest using it only in fictional tales. This has been a public service announcement from the RWG--Responsible Writer’s Guild.